Alvorecer
by Skull Bearer
Summary: Sometimes sunrise is the darkest time, because it lets you see what you've lost. What can Raistlin and Dalamar do when their world falls in on top of them? Eighth in the 'Ivory and Ebony' series and covers 'Spring Dawning'. AU. Slash. Complete.
1. For the End

_So, here we go. Dragons of Spring Dawning. This is where we start really deviating from canon, but then, it couldn't really be any other way could it? This chapter will be shorter than most._

_Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this fic this far._

**Alvorecer**

Chapter one- For the End

_There's something cold and blank behind her smile  
She's standing on an overpass  
In her miracle mile  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

_He should have been screaming._

_Screaming and screaming and screaming but part of his mind realized that if he did, the sound wouldn't reach his throat. But it wasn't his mind. Not any more.  
He should be screaming. He should be howling and weeping and tearing in answer to the unbearable pain shredding his soul. But he couldn't. He couldn't feel, he couldn't hear, he could barely see. He didn't want to. He didn't want to feel this. He didn't want to feel anything. He wanted to die._

_He wanted to die._

_He'd left Dalamar to die._

_Raistlin's scream went unheard._

* * *

He couldn't feel anything. 

Dalamar knew that feeling. It had been the same thing he had felt upon being exiled, the same numbness that made a ghost of the pain, but faded much too soon. That covered his soul in ice and killed all feeling. If he was fortunate, it would not fade until the water closed over his head and he would be beyond feeling.

He was struggling to keep from thinking anything. Perhaps if he kept his mind blank and devoid of thought, he'd die before it started to hurt. He could feel it; the burning edges of a pain so vast and unbearable that he couldn't take it in. He could feel it and his mind shied away; away from the burning brand of an emotion that would never heal, even if he died a heartbeat after it was felt.

No. Keep it at bay. Push it away until it is too late to feel anything at all. He was good at that. Too good, Raistlin sometimes said.

Raistlin...

The first sob tore its way free from Dalamar's throat, and his head struck the handrail. Arms knotting around his head as though to shield off the blows crashing down on him.

Stop.

He couldn't. It hurt, it hurt. It hurt and he wanted it to stop. He wanted Raistlin to come up behind him, pull him into his arms as he had so many times before and hold him. And he wouldn't. He couldn't. Because Raistlin wasn't here. Because Raistlin was gone. Because Raistlin had left him to die.

It had been better in the Nightmare. He hadn't had time to feel this. He wished Kitiara was here to strike him down again. The dead couldn't feel pain like this.

Another sob, his shoulders shaking, his teeth digging into his hand. Try to hold back the pain. Try to hold back the tide.

Fail.

Tears.

Oh Gods.

Oh Nuitari.

Oh _Raistlin_.

* * *

Dalamar stood at the prow of the doomed ship, a death spectre in tattered black robes, staring dully into the swirling red water as though contemplating throwing himself in. 

The only reason he didn't was because it wouldn't make any difference soon. Anything to quiet the howling loss and pain. The Nightmare had been terrible enough, but this was no dream, which made it immeasurably worse.

Tanis had shouted at him- something he couldn't remember. He couldn't recall what he'd answered, but his throat felt raw so he suspected he must have screamed it. The others had left him alone after then, they stood in a small huddle by the rail, whispering and shooting him nervous glances, as though they were afraid of what he would do now that Raistlin had abandoned them.

Abandoned him. The words raked through his mind like claws. Crippling claws.

Why? Nothing made sense. His mind was so tangled that he couldn't even think, couldn't force away the pain. The image of Raistlin's face, the moment before the green light engulfed him, a contorted mixture of human horror and alien glee. It was burnt into his mind as though it had been branded there.

He should be wondering why, finding relief in cold, clear thought, racking his mind to reason what had happened, to understand why. But there was no point. Let the ship break apart, let the bloody waters close over his head and drown his questions with his life. Let him go to that watery grave ignorant, and seek answers from Zeboim and Nuitari.

Suicide was forbidden for elves, their reverence for life making the taking of their own the foulest blasphemy. But Dalamar was a Dark elf, and oblivion would be welcome.

His wishes seemed to be about to be granted as the deck beneath him cracked, the boards of the hull splintering under the dragging, conflicting pull of the waves. The prow angled down, the water pulling it down. The hull beneath the prow was rapidly filling with water and the Perechon started to tilt forwards, the waves crashing further and further up over the deck. Dalamar caught himself as the ground rocked beneath him, throwing him forwards, his palms smacking painfully into the rail. He pushed himself away, feeling the bite of the splinters as he pulled himself hand over hand up the sloping deck and away from the death he had, heartbeats before, welcomed with open arms.

The crack of leathery wings made his head snap up, eyes widening at the sight of the dragon. Kitiara. He'd forgotten about her. But surely even she couldn't be insane enough to risk attacking the stricken ship. Surely the Dragon Highlord didn't want Berem so badly as to risk _this_... But she did. Dalamar's feet slipped out from under him as the woman sent her dragon plummeting towards the helmsmen's position.

Then it seemed as though everything was happening slowly. As Tanis jumped to knock Berem flat on the deck, a huge wave broke over them, sending both of men reeling. The deck canted away and Dalamar collapsed on his hand and knees. When he looked up, Berem was gone, swept away by the sea, and Kitiara's dragon was roaring in rage. It swept down again, going for Tanis, at the same moment the hull under the poop deck splintered in turn and the ship pitched violently to the side. Tanis too vanished under the flying waves.

Dalamar's hands skidded over the deck as he tried to keep from being thrown in after Tanis. He clung to life, unable to give up even now when he would gladly die and it all seemed hopeless anyway.

A wave broke over him like a battering ram, knocking him over and into the wreckage of the mizzenmast. There was a roar, and a crack as the ship started to break apart, slowly tilting into the swirling maelstrom. He scrabbled at the mast, trying to find something to hold onto as a second wave dragged his away. But the wood splintered under his hands, and the ropes snapped when he tried to hang onto them. The wave pulled at him, and Dalamar lost all sense of reference, deck and sea and sky blurring into blood. The broken mast vanished as he was thrown off the deck and into the swirling, whirling water.

Dalamar was so soaked already that he didn't realize at once he was in the water. He couldn't see anything, surrounded by the red-tinged darkness. He lashed out wildly, tangling in the trailing ropes that surrounded the dying ship like the wreckage of a spider's web. Instinctively, he drew in a breath-

He'd always imagined drowning to be horribly painful. He could taste the bloody water, and feel the grit of it on his tongue and down his throat. His mind cleared; one moment of pure clarity in the chaos of the Maelstrom and his own grief. He could see the wreckage of the Perechon, the prow being dragged down by the whirlpool even while the rest of the shatters ship floundered. He could see, with a strange, detached curiosity, the flailing bodies of the crew, some floating down with him, others hanging on to the wreckage in an attempt to keep afloat.

Then he coughed, his lungs clenching like a fist against the water, but now it wasn't water but fire, fire in his mouth and throat. He coughed again and the bubbles floated away. A third time, and the ice he had begged to swallow him came at last.

_Skull Bearer_


	2. For Bidden

_Spicyeggplant: Thank you ;)_

_Kaiho Neko: Of course not, it wouldn't be much of an ending now would it? Here's chapter two._

_erin: Heh, thank you. Suffering is also worth seeing._

_DeviantArt:_

_Myar: hugs_

_halokitty: Thank you, it's going to be harder, but a lot more interesting._

_Livejournal:_

_shadowvalkyrie: Well, it's going to get far more interesting, but not exactly happy._

_analia the1st: Thank you for the beta, as ever. It's strange, but if Raistlin /had/ taken Dalamar with him, the would probably have both died. If you remember, in canon when Raistlin used the Dragon Orb just to transport himself, he nearly died. With two of them... Ironic, eh?_

**Alvorecer**

Chapter two: For Bidding

_You were from a perfect world  
A world that threw me away today  
Today to run away.  
-Coma White_

_Raistlin could feel the walls imprisoning him, the planes and sheets of ice-walls he had built to keep Fistandantilus out now used by the lich against him. He flailed out against it, but so shattered and unfocused, he might as well have been beating against a stone wall. It didn't so much as shiver, and Fistandantilus ignored him._

_He had to fight, but it hurt so much, like fighting with a broken spine, or crippled limbs. Every movement, every thought bringing a new flash of agony. Raistlin didn't know if the lich was amplifying the pain to break him- or even if he needed to. It hurt, it hurt so much. He couldn't block out the images, replaying over and over again those last few moments, that look of horror on Dalamar's face, those small movement's he made, as if to reach out to him only to find him gone._

_Raistlin couldn't feel his body; he couldn't see and couldn't hear. And in that moment, he didn't care._

--------------------------------

_Welcome, O noble visitor, to our beautiful city.  
Welcome to the city beloved of the gods.  
Welcome, oh honored guest, to  
Istar._

The words swam above Dalamar's head, his first vague thought to wonder as to who would call him a 'noble visitor'. He reached over to wake Raistlin and have him take a look-

His hand hit cold stone.

The Dragon orb. The Maelstrom. Kitiara. The ship breaking apart. Raistlin's icy voice. _Ast bilak mioparalan Suh akvlar tantangusar._ The crushing weight of the waves. Water filling his lungs. Raistlin's eyes- the dead man's eyes. _Ast bilak mioparalan Suh akvlar tantangusar._ The sting of salt water on his torn hands. Berem and Tanis. The feeling of air scalding his drowned lungs. _Ast bilak mioparalan Suh akvlar tantangusar_. Raistlin's horrified expression. Raistlin... leaving. Raistlin leaving him to die.

_Ast bilak mioparalan Suh akvlar tantangusar._

The words rang in Dalamar's ears like echoes. His breath was sharp in his throat, agony in his skinned lungs. Was he dead? He wondered, staring up at the carved archway above his head. If he was, then it was not the release he had hoped. But then, things should not hurt so much if you were dead. His lungs were screaming from the salt water he had inhaled, his head was pounding and his body felt as though it had spent a half-hour on the rack.

And in his heart...

He remembered the Nightmare, and how Raistlin had been there after he had 'died'. It was absurd, but he couldn't help but look around. This was no dream though, and he was alone. Alone in a network of catacombs that stretched away as far as he could see. High, arching ceilings shrouded in shadows that not ever his elven eyes could pierce. It reminded him of the temple of E'li in Silvanesti- he derailed the thought, he didn't want to feel any more pain, not now- Everything was old here, old and decrepit and damaged by the damp, mosses clinging to the delicate architecture and puddles forming under the first tentative spires of stalactites.

Dalamar sat up stiffly, and looked back up the archway above his head. It was made of marble, and badly worn, with mosses clinging to the surface. Istar. He hung on to the word, because if he was thinking of this he was not thinking of the other things that crowded in on his mind, promising more pain than he could deal with. Istar. This was Istar. /He/ was in Istar. Dalamar glanced around again; to his right was a large room, eerily lit by some unseen source. How was this possible? Istar had been cast into the Blood Sea after the Cataclysm, true, but why wasn't it swamped with water? And how did he get here to begin with? Dalamar looked up, as if expecting to see the hole he had fallen in from. Of course, there was nothing.

Dalamar stared up at the ceiling, and recalled- of all things- something he had heard Flint say, an eternity ago back in Solace. The dwarf had been arguing with Tanis over the superiority of stone over wood when it came to building houses, stating that only stone houses had survived the Cataclysm, and that even in Istar, he had no doubt that "certain lucky fish are living quite comfortably."

The memory was so clear, so absurd, and so ridiculous, that despite the pain in his lungs and heart, Dalamar burst out laughing.

The laughter echoed eerily around the catacombs of Istar, making him start. He tried to stop, hearing a tinge of hysteria in his voice, but he couldn't, laughing until he had no air left in his screaming lungs. Dalamar drew in heavy, staggering breath, and then the dam broke, the ice shattered and the iron crumbled. His shoulders heaved in a great, shuddering sob as the events of the last few hours finally caved in on him.

Dalamar curled in on himself, hugging his knees and cradling his head as he wept uncontrollably, not caring who might see or hear him in this state. He didn't try to stop, even if he could have, the tears burning trails down his salt-stiff cheeks. Each sob brought a shudder that threatened to tear him apart, loud and choking. He couldn't look away from the memory of Raistlin's face, couldn't hear anything but his lover's cold voice as he commanded the Dragon orb, the words echoing over and over again in his mind.

Dalamar didn't know how long his sat there, howling his misery to the ancient walls. Only that what he stopped, his head was pounding and he had no more tears left to cry. His face was wet, the strands of his black hair lank and slick, and his robes sodden where he had rested his face on them. Dalamar choked, and drew in a heavy breath, feeling it catch in dry sobs when he was unable to cry any more. He felt weak and shaky and light-headed, and cold. He hadn't realized how cold he was until now, his damp robes providing scant protection against the chill air. He drew in another breath, and wiped his nose and cheeks with his sleeve. His ears were ringing and he kept hearing Raistlin's voice.

_Ast bilak mioparalan Suh akvlar tantangusar._

No. Not Raistlin's voice.

Dalamar opened his eyes, the world was a hazy blur, but his mind felt clearer than it had for- since- Dalamar pushed that thought away, the sharp edge of the pain. It was easier now, the edge worn from his tears. He swallowed, trying to slow his breathing, he had to think.

Not Raistlin. The realization was like being hit with a thunderbolt. Not his voice. He knew that voice, he knew those eyes. He had recognized them before his heart-splitting misery and grief and shredded his mind and made it impossible to think at all. The voice from Silvanesti, the eyes he had seen looking out from being Raistlin's. The voice of ice, the eyes of a dead man.

Dalamar drew in a second, deep breath, and then started as he heard the footsteps. They were close; if he hadn't been so stunned he would have heard them earlier. He turned around stiffly; the person was coming from behind him, from the large room.

The mental pain had died to a nagging, dull ache, but one that flared up immediately the moment Dalamar laid eyes on the man running towards him. Even though the man wore red robes, Dalamar knew better than to mistake him for Raistlin, but the pain the reminder prompted was enough that he didn't react at once when the man ran past him.

Dalamar bit back the pain and forced himself to his feet, his every bone ached, and the moment he straightened up his head span so hard he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling over. Dalamar took another breath to steady himself, and his head snapped up as the sounds of more footsteps reached his ears.

The door on the far side of the large room flew open, and Berem staggered through it, Dalamar blinked, although he decided he really shouldn't have been surprised. What did surprise him were those who followed after- Tanis, Riverwind and Goldmoon.

There was an awkward silence when they saw him, then Tanis spoke quickly, "The man- the Red Robe- have you seen him?"

Dalamar didn't react at once, between the pain in his head and that in his heart, everything felt unreal. He looked away and turned and nodded down the corridor the man had vanished down. Tanis nodded and wordlessly they filed past him. Dalamar paused, then fell into step behind them. He didn't know why he did so, only that they were going somewhere that might afford some answers, and if not, even their company was better than that of his own thoughts.

* * *

The race through the ruined city of Istar reminded Dalamar of nothing so much as Silvanesti after the Nightmare had been broken, it's horrors revealed to the light of day. The buildings still retained something of their ancient, alien beauty, but centuries of neglect had only made them stranger and more disturbing, like running through a half-formed dream. The Dark elf paid them little attention, focusing only on following the others. He was so tired that he didn't feel entirely real, his body no longer feeling as though it belonged to him, his mind heavy and numb.

Tanis glanced back at him as they ran through an open space that had once been a garden, the plants petrified by the salt and darkness, the brown, withered grass crumbling under their feet. Dalamar glowered back at the Half-elf, and he looked away. He didn't want them to speak to him; he didn't want them to /look/ at him. Every time he saw them was a reminder of how alone he was. That he had to face them by himself because Raistlin was no longer there.

The dead garden led into a long hall, it was darker here, and the smell of wet and mildew was suffocating. It was empty, but once they rounded a corner Dalamar noticed a set of stairs heading down. He started down them automatically, the others paused, their eyes taking longer to adapt to the darkness, and then they too headed down the stairs.

If he had time, and if- another twist of his heart- Raistlin was here, Dalamar knew that he would quite happily have spent hours examining just this one staircase. It was wide enough to lead an army down, and more ornate than the Tower of the Sun in Qualinesti. His eyes swept over the statues gracing each landing, and the murals painted on the walls; even faded and cracked, they were more real and more beautiful than any he had ever seen. They showed scenes from the glory days of Istar, one was an image of the Kingpriest triumphant over the Kurnos the Deceiver, the next was a scene of the man raising the dead, and the third a depiction of knights in victory over the wizards.

Dalamar looked at this last one, vaguely realizing that he should feel insulted or indignant, but it felt as though his thoughts were acting out a shadow-play of what he should have been feeling. Even interest felt almost impossible to dredge up. He was numb, numb as he hadn't been since the first weeks of his exile.

Even Dalamar's eyes couldn't pierce the darkness at the foot of the stairs, only catching brief flashes of the Red Robed mage. It grew even darker as they descended, and so humid if felt as though he were breathing clouds. Dalamar slowed as his ears picked up the sound of water lapping against stone. Someone ran into his back, and he heard Riverwind swear softly and reach out to hold Tanis back.

As they descended the last few steps, the room slowly came into view. He could see the man more clearly now, a tall, brown haired figure kneeling down beside a large pool of dark water. The pool clearly led to the sea, for it was moving and rippling against the shore- was this how they had been brought here? Dalamar wondered.

A few more steps down, and he could see that the Red Robe was not alone, although he was in front of them, Dalamar could pick out a figure sitting in the pool. He could see a slender white arm, and the edges of green tinged hair floating in the water.

"I have been waiting," A woman's voice, speaking elven. Dalamar again felt that he should have been surprised, but was so weary that it simply wasn't worth the effort. Behind him, Tanis gasped, the Dark elf leaned over to see what he had noticed, and even he blinked in shock at the sight of the woman.

His first thought was to reach over and alert Raistlin, then bit his lip when he remembered, feeling tears sting his eyes. The woman was a sea elf. They were little more than folk-tales in Silvanesti, of elves that had fled the land to find refuge from evil beneath the waves. Dalamar shook his head, forcing the thought away and focusing on the woman's conversation with the Red Robe.

"I'm sorry, beloved," The man's voice was soft and soothing, loving in a way that sent new thorns through Dalamar's heart. "I went to see how the young man you were concerned about was doing. He'll be alright now. He's a strong one, but you were right, he has been through a sore trial. Something about his brother- a magic user- betraying him.

Dalamar felt the other's stares boring into his back, but didn't react. It the previous reminder was a thorn, this was a dagger. Everything felt raw, with the slightest touch burning agony. His eyes stung, and he fought the urge to blink and show his tears.

"Caramon!" Tanis murmured from behind him.

_"QueaKI'ICHeecx,"_ the woman snapped, incomprehensible.

The man clearly understood, "Yes! After I made sure those two were safe, I went to see the others, one of them- a bearded fellow, a Half-elf, leaped at me as though he would swallow me whole! The others we managed to save are doing well."

"And the Dark elf?"

Dalamar recognized the hint of fear in the woman's voice. He had heard it so often that normally he barely spared it a thought, now, it stung.

"I passed him in the corridor," The mage paused, "Have you thought of what we should do with him?"

The sea elf sighed, "I don't know, if I had known what he was..."

"You would have saved him anyway, my love." The mage reached out to touch the elf's shining green hair, "You could never stand to watch anyone harmed, even a Dark elf."

The woman sighed, and the Red Robe changed the subject, "I would have liked to know what _any_ of them were doing in the Blood Sea of Istar. I've never known a ship's captain foolish enough to dare the maelstrom. The girl told me there's a war going on above. Maybe they had no choice."

The woman pushed herself away from the shore, and splashed the mage playfully, "There's _always_ war going on above! You are too curious, my beloved. Sometimes I think you might leave me and return to your world. Especially after you talk to these _KreeaQUEKH_."

The man bent down and kissed a lock of the woman's hair. "No, Apoletta. Let them have their wars and their brothers who betray brothers. Let them have their Dark elves and their foolish sea captains. As long as my magic serves me, I will live beneath the waves."

Dalamar frowned- _As long as my magic serves me_, did that mean that the man had a spell that allowed him to live underwater? He had heard of spells that allowed the caster to breath water. Perhaps the man had such in his spellbook.

Tanis cleared his throat, stepping down the last few steps to ground level. The others followed, but Dalamar lagged behind, after what the woman had said, he wasn't sure if he wanted to draw attention to himself.

But then, remembering the pain that lurked just below the surface of his thought, he couldn't help but wonder if it might have been kinder for her to let him drown after all- just to stop feeling.

The man's head snapped around, clearly taken completely by surprise, the woman vanished so swiftly that it seemed as though she had turned invisible, without so much as a ripple to show she had even been there.

Dalamar didn't heard what Tanis was saying to the Red Robe, he was speaking too fast and too incoherently. He caught a few words; references to the war, to the others, to Raistlin- Dalamar clenched his teeth- to the war and to the dragons-

"There are sea dragons, half-elf," The sea elf had reappeared as suddenly as she had vanished, and Dalamar wondered if there might have been some truth in the old tale that sea elves could become invisible in water. "And we have heard rumours of their return. We did not believe them though. We didn't know the dragons had awakened. Whose fault was that?" There was fear in her eyes, the fear of one who had faced dragons before.

"Does it matter?" Tanis sounded calmer, if weary, "They have destroyed the ancient homeland. Silvanesti is a land of nightmares now." Another flash of pain, but muted, old and worn, overshadowed by his present grief. Dalamar wondered if the pain he felt now would fade in the same way. A smile of no humour pulled at his lips; of course not.

"Nothing, no one is safe," Tanis was still talking, "The Dark Queen has one purpose- to gain dominance over every living being. Will you be safe? Even down here? For I presume we are below the sea?"

"You are right, Half-elf," The Red Robe answered. "You are beneath the sea, in the ruins of the city of Istar. The sea elves saved you and brought you here, as they bring all those whose ships are wrecked. I know where your friends are and I can take you there. Beyond that, I can't see what more I can do for you."

"Get us out of here," Riverwind spoke up for the first time. "Who is this woman, Tanis? She looks elven."

Dalamar realized for the first time that Tanis and Apoletta's conversation had taken place entirely in elven. The woman smiled, and introduced herself in Common.

"Anyway," Tanis continued, "the sea elves are the ones, who rescued us, like all elves, they consider life sacred-"

Had Raistlin been there, he would have said something sarcastic about any lives but that of a Dark elf. Dalamar tried not to think of it. Holding the thoughts back until he had the time to pick them apart and perhaps understand why.

"-and help anyone lost at sea or drowning. This man, her husband-"

"Zebulah," The man introduced himself.

"I am Tanis Half-Elven, Riverwind and Goldmoon of the Que-Shu tribe, and Berem, uh-" Tanis broke off, glancing at Berem as though hoping the man would introduce himself.

Dalamar stepped down to ground level, and into the light of the torches. "Dalamar Nightson," he bit out.

The sea elf's eyes were cold. Normally, Dalamar was hardened enough that her disgust wouldn't have bother him, but now, with his soul flayed and bleeding it was just one more blow. Dear Nuitari, wasn't this enough? His eyes burnt with tears he refused to let fall.

The woman didn't speak to him, but rather turned to her husband, "Zebulah find the friends the Half-elf speaks of and bring them back here."

"We should go with you, if you thought I was going to swallow you, there's no telling what Caramon might do-"

"No." Apoletta shook her head. "Send the barbarians, Half-elf. You stay here. I would talk with you and learn more of this war you say could endanger us. It saddens me to hear the dragons have awakened. If that is true, I fear you might be right. Our world will no longer be safe."

"I will be back soon, beloved," Zebulah smiled.

Dalamar wondered if he should go with them, but the thought of spending any time with Caramon was utterly repulsive. He didn't want to think of how now they were in the same situation, abandoned by the same person. The thought that Raistlin had left him as coldly and eagerly as he had left Caramon was something Dalamar simply couldn't think about.

_Skull Bearer_


	3. For Saken

_Spicyeggplant: Raistlin left Caramon in the Nightmare, and remember that for all Caramon would wish it otherwise, he isn't remotely as close to his twin as he is in canon.  
Thank you, I'm going to love writing Istar. It's everything I hate rolled into one ;)_

_Shadow: Now, now, that would be telling ;). Thank you for your praise and please, keep writing. There;s far too little Raistlin/Dalamar fanfiction out there._

_Dracoqueen22: Heh, thank you very much._

_**DeviantART-**_

_Vanyali07- Thank you_

_Halokitty: To have anything in common with that lout would be heartrending, particularly something like this._

_Myar: Thank you for the hugs, they have been distributed among the characters that need hugs._

_**Livejournal-**_

_Shadowvalkyrie: Heh, thank you. And thank you again for the lovely fanfics you did of my series._

_Analia-the-1st: Thank you for the beta sweetie -hugs-_

**_And for everyone else, I have uploaded a very nice piece of pure Raistlin/Dalamar smut on http://books. adultfanfiction. net/story.php? no600005588_**

**_And a rather fluffy Ice and Steel set piece on my LJ- http://skullbearer. /99821. html#cutid1 _**

**_Just get rid of the spaces. Incidentally, I have finished rewriting Enigma, would you like me to post it up now, or wait until I've finished re-writing Ice and Steel?_**

**Alvorecer**

Chapter two- ForSaken

_A pill to make you numb  
A pill to make you dumb  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

_Raistlin didn't want to feel. He curled up in the back of his own mind, trying not to think. But he could feel. He couldn't see or hear, but he could feel, however vaguely, and he couldn't shut it out._

_He could feel himself dying._

_It was ironic. Even with Fistandantilus' help, just transporting himself via the Dragon orb had damaged his body enough to kill him. Had he tried to do so by himself, and with Dalamar with him, they would have both died. And now it would make no difference. At least, not for the lich. Raistlin wished Dalamar was with him, that they could have died together, as they had sworn all those months ago in Tarsis._

_He could feel Fistandantilus' cold anger, his determination to do- to do what? What could he possibly do to stop his host body dying? Forcing Raistlin's body to keep moving, to keep living even a little longer. Raistlin was at least grateful that he couldn't feel the pain that must be racking him right now, a felt a brief stab of satisfaction that it was Fistandantilus who had to bear the pain he had so often inflicted on Raistlin himself. And because of those self-same wounds, Fistandantilus had destroyed his only chance at returning._

_Even behind the walls the lich had thrown up to imprison him, Raistlin could feel the familiar sensation of the magic nearby. It must be truly strong, for him to be able to feel it. He wondered where they were. He could have fought, perhaps disrupt whatever the lich was trying to do, but what difference would it make?_

_The lightning feel of the magic was even stronger now, and Raistlin realized that he was casting. Using Raistlin's magic to cast his spells. It angered him. A small, petty emotion compared to the grief still churning in him, but still there, offering strength._

_The spell was completed, but what good would it do but accelerate his death? It was only when he felt the dragging sensation of a teleportation spell- a faint echo of the one he had felt with the Dragon orb- that Raistlin started to fear._

* * *

Dalamar barely listened to Tanis' words. He knew what he was saying. He had lived through it and didn't want to hear the Half-elf's views. Instead, he stared at Berem.  
The Dark elf frowned. Kitiara had sent out an army to find him, had risked the Maelstrom to get at him. What could this man possible offer the Dragon Highlords for them to risk so much? He would have to talk this over with- 

With Raistlin.

It should have hurt less. He couldn't believe it could hurt more but it did. Raistlin was not there, would not be there how ever many times he looked. Would not be lying next to him in the mornings, would not be there, under his hands, at night. Would not be standing next to him every time he thought of him, as he had every time before. Would not be there to share everything with, good or bad. He would be alone, and so, Dalamar realized with a jolt, would Raistlin.

The memory of his lover's face the moment before he teleported away resurfaced in Dalamar's mind. His eyes were wrong, a dead man's eyes. The eyes of the Silvanesti Nightmare. Dalamar tried to focus, to see past the grief racking him. He had seen those eyes, had heard that same voice in the Silvanesti Nightmare and afterwards, the day after and the night Raistlin tried to use the Dragon orb the first time. Dalamar bit back a sob, not even feeling the tears streaking his face. Still he forced himself to think. The times he had seen Raistlin look like that, it had been as though someone else was wearing his skin like a cloak, his face like a mask. Everything about him, his posture and voice and above all the dead look in his eyes, was alien. And so were his actions.

Dalamar was afraid of letting himself believe this, because if he did, and if turned out he was wrong and Raistlin- and how it hurt even to consider this!- Raistlin had willingly left him to die, then Dalamar knew that the pain would be beyond even his ability to cope with. But the more he thought of it, the more this seemed to be the only answer that made sense. He could not imagine why Raistlin would have left him, especially like this, and if he hadn't been so crippled by grief, he would have realized it immediately.

But his mind felt clearer now, and despite the tears still burning his eyes, his thoughts came more easily. If Raistlin had been- he didn't even know if there was a word for what happened, but if it had happened again... He didn't dare to let himself feel what that would mean, it was too dangerous, to lie himself open so quickly after suffering such a devastating blow. It would be so wonderful to feel that kind of relief, after all that pain, but he couldn't risk it.

Oh Nuitari, Dalamar covered his eyes, surprised to feel the wet track of tears. He had trusted Raistlin, and Gods help him, part of him still did.

Then Dalamar's hand dropped, his eyes widening as the realization struck. Every time he had seen Raistlin like that, every time, it hadn't lasted very long. Longest in Silvanesti- even now Dalamar didn't know how long that had lasted but no more than a few days. A few minutes the following night, and bare moments during their last night in Flotsam. Surely, by now Raistlin would have recovered from it?

Then, where would he go? Would he head to Palanthas, hoping that Dalamar would meet him there, in the place they had named as their destination- perhaps using the time to find the books on the Dragon orb? Or would he go to Kalaman, trying to reach the place where he knew the Perechon would have made port-

No. No he wouldn't. A horrible chill shook him. Raistlin wouldn't even try. Because Raistlin thought he was dead. The last thing he would have known was that Dalamar was trapped on the doomed Perechon, and at that moment probably believed him lost to the Maelstrom. This time, his grief was entirely sympathetic- bad enough to have been abandoned like this, but at least he knew that Raistlin was alive, and hopefully unhurt. For Raistlin...

It shocked Dalamar how quickly he'd come to accept this idea, but then, how often had they sneered at how the others made completely illogical decisions based on how much they wanted to believe them. It seemed that when the stakes were high enough, he was no better.

But it made sense. He clung onto that on hope. There was no reason, no possible reason why Raistlin would willingly leave him to die. Even in the Silvanesti Nightmare, he remembered how something- someone?- had looked out from behind Raistlin's face, as thought it was a mask. And that last look in Raistlin's eyes- when they were still his and not that of the dead- that look of horror...

He had to hold onto that hope, because if that was gone then what was the point of going on?

Tanis had stopped talking, and the silence was broken only by the wash of the waves. Dalamar looked up as Apoletta broke the silence; he hadn't heard a word of what they'd said.  
"What about him?" She asked, nodding at Berem.

Dalamar glanced over at the man, he was staring into the shadows of the cave, looking- if anything- even more stricken than he did.

"I don't know." Tanis said dully, also watching Berem, "He is the key, according to the Queen of Darkness. Find him, she said, and victory is hers."

"Well, you've got him." Apoletta answered stiffly, "Does that make victory yours?"

Dalamar, who had only been idly listening, suddenly looked at Apoletta, surprised. It wasn't often somebody put forward an idea he or- a stab of pain, but he thought through it anyway- Raistlin hadn't already thought of.

Tanis scratched his beard, clearly this was a new thought for him too, "True... we have got him, but what do we do with him? What is there about him that grants victory- to either side?"

"Doesn't he know?"

"He claims he doesn't."

"I would say he was lying," Apoletta said slowly, "but then he is human, and I know little of the strange workings of the human mind. There is a way you can find out, however. Journey to the Temple of the Dark Queen in Neraka."

"Neraka!" Tanis said shocked, but before he could go on, Berem interrupted him with a terrible scream. It reminded Dalamar of the cry the man he let out when he had seen Kitiara and her dragons. Neraka obviously didn't appeal to him either.

"What is it, Berem?" Tanis snapped at him, "Did you see something?"

"He didn't see anything, Half-elf," Apoletta was obviously more perceptive, "He reacted that way when I said Neraka-"

Neraka. Dalamar watched the three of them. He didn't want to go to Neraka. There was nothing for him in Neraka, he had no stake in this mad quest, and had followed it only from a lack of other options. And it had cost him more than he could ever have dreamt. He couldn't ever have imagined this outcome, during that evening, last autumn, when they'd followed the others. Not even in his nightmares.

No, his part in this was finished; he wanted nothing more to do with these fools. Let them face the Queen of Darkness and let them die. He wanted to find Raistlin. He /had/ to find Raistlin, he would go to the Red Moon if it had to, he would find him, and finally understand what had been happening. The decision to act cleared his mind, although that only brought home the size of the task he'd taken on. Where could he even start?

"How old did you say he was?" Apoletta's thoughtful voice brought him back to the world.

"Over three hundred years, or so he _claims_," Tanis spat, "If you only believe half of what he says, that cuts it down to one hundred and fifty, which doesn't seem too plausible either, not for a human."

"You know," Apoletta said thoughtfully "the Queen's Temple at Neraka is a mystery to us. It appeared suddenly, after the Cataclysm, so far as we have been able to determine. Now we find this man who would trace his ancestry to that same time and place."

"It is strange..." Tanis said slowly.

"Yes. It may be nothing more than coincidence, but follow coincidence far enough and you'll find it tied to fate, so my husband says."

"Coincidence or not, I don't see myself walking into the Temple of the Queen of Darkness and asking why she's searching the world for a man with a green gemstone buried in his chest."

Apoletta frowned, and looked over at Dalamar, who stiffened under her cold glare. "Why not ask him? He is a follower of the Dark Gods, perhaps he knows."

Tanis blinked, and looked at Dalamar, obviously having forgotten the elf was even there. He shook his head and sighed. Dalamar felt slightly insulted and fought back the urge to sneer. Tanis was very confident for someone who knew nothing, even though he himself knew even less.

Apoletta shook her head, "But surely, to take him with you if you are going to the temple-"

"I am not going with them." Dalamar's vice was hoarser than he expected, scraped raw from his tears. He glanced at Tanis, "Go and throw yourselves in the Dark Queen's jaws if you wish, Half-human, I am leaving."

"Where are you going?" Tanis frowned.

Dalamar did sneer this time. _Guess._ He turned to Apoletta, now feeling foolish that he hadn't asked the way out before announcing his intention to leave.

"I don't know the way out," Apoletta said coldly. "Neither does Zebulah. It was never our concern."

"What!" Tanis gasped, "We could wander in these ruins for weeks-"

Dalamar's turned, his ears picking up footsteps under Half-elven's shouting. The others stepped into the chamber, followed by Zebulah. Dalamar's stomach clenched as he laid eyes on Caramon's grey face, and felt an overwhelming hate towards the big man that eclipsed his previous loathing, and which not even reason could suppress. He had no reason to hate the man, rationally. He had no more to do with Raistlin's disappearance than the Dark elf have. But he had been abandoned as Dalamar had. Left to die as Dalamar had. And now Dalamar would have gladly killed the man.

Goldmoon and Riverwind were talking to Tanis, Tika standing near Caramon. The big man raised his head, his eyes shadowed and reddened, to meet Dalamar' gaze. The Dark elf bared his teeth. No more. He wanted nothing more to do with this group. If there was truly no way out of the ruins, he would follow Zebulah and find where the mage kept his spellbook, he would steal the tome and discover what spells the man had to help him escape this underwater tomb. If he couldn't steal it, and the man wouldn't let him use it, then he would kill the red robe and take the tome anyway. After the Blood Sea, nothing held any fear for him any more.

"Perhaps I can help you, after all." Apoletta's voice caught his attention.

"Apoletta," Zebulah admonished, "What are you saying? Consider-"

"I have considered. The Half elf said we should be concerned about what happens in the world. He is right. The same thing could happen to us that happened to our Silvanesti cousins." Dalamar felt sick at the reminder- another blow. "They renounced the world and allowed dark and evil things to creep into their land. We have been warned in time. We can still fight the evil. Your coming here may have saved us, Half- elf," she turned to Tanis, "We owe you something in return."

"Take us back to our world." Dalamar snarled.

The sea elf stared at him- they all did. Dalamar felt his skin crawl under their eyes, the first time he had stood under their stares alone. He felt as though something vital was missing from him, as though Raistlin had been as much a part of him as his own flesh and bone.

Apoletta looked as though she would have wanted to deny him that and spare the outside world his presence. But between the he knowledge that the Dark elf would undoubtedly make trouble in her world, and the elven love for life that held her back from sorting out the problem by killing him, she could only nod. "Where would you go?" She addressed Tanis.

Tanis just shook his head uselessly, "I suppose one place is as good as another."

"Palanthas." Dalamar said coldly. He agreed with Tanis that any place was as good as another, but it was a good a place to start as any. The voice could have taken Raistlin anywhere, but if his lover had regained control, he would almost certainly head to Palanthas, and the library that held the books on commanding the Dragon orb.

"No." Dalamar gritted his teeth at the sea elf's voice "I cannot take you to Palanthas. Our borders extend only as far as Kalaman. Beyond that, we dare not venture. Especially if what you say is true, Half-elven, for beyond Kalaman lies the ancient home of the sea dragons"  
Dalamar shrugged bitterly, Kalaman then. After all, they had no idea if Palanthas would even be standing- or Kalaman, for that matter.

Goldmoon was saying something to Tanis, the Half-elf smiled and nodded at Apoletta. "Take us to Kalaman. It's where we were headed anyway."

Apoletta nodded. She and Zebulah waited only long enough to warn them that the journey would be long and trying, and advising them to get as much sleep as they could, before preparing to leave. Dalamar watched Zebulah closely. The man was clearly planning to leave with his wife, underwater, and he wanted to see what spell he was planning to use.  
"How will we travel?" Tanis asked quickly, as the Red robe joined his wife in the water. "By boat?"

"You will swim," She smiled, "Didn't you wonder how we brought you down here? Our magic arts, and those of my husband, will give you the ability to breathe water as easily as you now breathe air."

Dalamar's attention snapped back to the sea elf. She may have saved his life once, but he certainly wasn't about to trust himself blindly to someone who had expressed regret over him having survived at all. "Tell your husband to let me look through his spellbook myself." Dalamar snapped. "I will cast the spell on myself."

Apoletta looked outraged at the suggestion. "You will leave by our terms, Night Son. And we will not hand anything of ours to you." Zebulah, behind her, nodded. He looked, if anything, even angrier than his wife. "We will send you away, gladly."

Dalamar inhaled, for a moment he wanted to argue, but let his breath out unspoken. He didn't have the energy to argue, and he could see in their eyes that it would be useless anyway.

Apoletta waited until it was obvious that he had nothing more to add, and then nodded at the others. "We will come for you at the ebb tide."

Dalamar lay down by the waters edge, on a spot where the sea had washed the red silt over the hard stone of the floor, offering a soft bed. He wondered if it would be worth the effort to try and find Zebulah's spellbook, but discarded the idea. It wasn't worth the effort, and he had no doubt that the man would keep his tomes well hidden.

Sleep came almost mechanically. He didn't feel tired. He didn't feel anything. But he knew his body needed rest. Dalamar felt as though he was made of gnomish clockwork, winding down. Like a machine, he closed his eyes.

Like a machine, he didn't dream.

* * *

Had Raistlin been there when he woke, Dalamar would have believed the whole of the last day a horrible nightmare. But he wasn't, and Dalamar knew it was no dream. 

The beach he had woken on was grey and depressing, the day cold in the first tentative days of spring dawning. The sky was overcast, threatening rain and the sea an even darker shade, lashing irritably at the shore. Dalamar looked out over the waves, wondering if he could catch sight of the sea elves that had brought them here. But the only thing moving in the water was a shattered tree-trunk.

He could see the others though, stretched out on the pallid sand like corpses. Caramon was closest, flat on his back with one arm outstretched over Tika. For a moment, Dalamar wondered if it would be worth putting a blade through his throat- somehow, in the chaos of the Blood Sea and Istar, he had not lost his weapon. But no.

Dalamar turned away, towards the hills, and walked away. He didn't look back.

_Skull Bearer._

**Please Review.**


	4. For Thought

_Kaiho Neko: Why did you think it took me so long to write the lastchapter of Nocturnale? I hated writing that part so much :(_

_Shadow: Thank you, I love reviews so I'm hardly going to complain. Constructive critism welcome!_

_Scribbles Editor: Thank you!_

_Dracoqueen: Angsty is not the same as emo, I wish more writers would realise this. -coughTaniscough-_

_Anima Demon 123: Thank for all the reviews! I hope you enjoyed the fics. As for pictures of pre-Test Raistlin... Myar drew a lovely pic of my porn scene in Ice and Steel (you would have read it on Skyehawke) the pic is here, and shows Raistlin pre-Test done a few pictures myself, but since they're all in black and white, the difference isn't that obvious. The link to my DeviantART page is in my bio._

_**Skyehawke-**_

_luni: -hugs-_

_**Livejournal:**_

_shadowvalkyrie: Here's the chapter I promised, and yes, Dalamar was being a bit thick, but it's probably due to shock._

_analiathe1st: Thank you, here._

**Alvorecer**

Chapter four- For Thought

_A pill to make you anybody else  
But all the drugs in this world  
Won't save her from herself  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_Even behind the walls and barriers and dams he was locked behind, Raistlin had felt it when life ran back into his body. He didn't know how long had past since he'd felt himself dying, nor how long between the healing and the meeting with the Dark Queen._

_Later, Raistlin was sure the thought would sound absurd, but right now, with the chill of the Goddess' presence palpable even through the walls of ice, it was anything but.  
A blast of mental energy smashed through Raistlin's thoughts, scattering his sense of self. It took a supreme effort to quite literally pull himself together, an effort Raistlin really didn't want to make.  
Something snarled at Raistlin, the part of him that always sounded so like Dalamar, berating him for giving up, telling him to hold himself together, not to give up, to fight back._

_Fistandantilus' voice laughed, and brushed aside the fragments of Raistlin's thoughts. The first time the lich had spoken to him since taking control. It wasn't even words, just thoughts. Amplifying his grief until that was all he felt, crippling him with his own emotions.  
Raistlin screamed, a cry that never touched his lips. Then grief turned to anger at the manipulation and he tried to draw himself together, drawing on the pain for strength. Fistandantilus paid him no attention, locking fragments of his own thoughts away behind the same barrier which trapped Raistlin, away from the Dark Queen's probing spells. Fragments of treachery, of rebellion, of usurpation.  
With the barrier even slightly down, Raistlin could see hazily for the first time in... he didn't know. He'd lost all sense of time. He would gladly have not seen this either._

_He couldn't see the Dark Queen, just a mass of malevolent darkness blacker than any he had ever known. He remembered being caught in the Black Dragon's spell, being buried in Tarsis, even the disc of blackness which was all he could see of Nuitari, nothing was darker than this. Raistlin hesitated, wanting to pull away from the sight but not daring. This could be the last chance he had of breaking free of Fistandantilus' control._

_But to break free, to what? Back to a body under constant assault from the undead monster locked in his mind? Back to a place where he stood, unarmed, in front of the Dark Queen Herself?_

_Back to a world where Dalamar was dead?_

_He didn't know if the last thought had been his or Fistandantilus', because at that moment the lich saw what he was doing and hurled him back behind the mental walls. The world vanished like a candle blinking out as the lich took back control, sealing back the walls until the break was almost invisible. Then as a final punishment, Fistandantilus tore out a selection of the young mage's worst memories, stripping them of any bluntness time might had afforded them, until they were as raw as the day they were made and drove them back into Raistlin's mind._

_-Enjoy-_

* * *

The lands south of Kalaman were as bare and featureless as Dalamar felt at that moment. Plain grasslands untamed by plough or hoe, all rough uneven ground and patches of heather without a tree to break the monotony of the horizon. So very unlike the endless seas of green in Abansinia or the mossy clearings in Silvanesti. It was early, and mist still clung to the short grass. Dalamar didn't notice, his only goal to keep walking, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. He let the rhythm fill his mind, and drive out thought. It was the first time he had been alone for years, and he didn't want to dwell on it any more than he had to.

It was hard going; the ground was muddy and covered in hillocks and mole-hills. It was warmer here too, this far north, and in his winter robes Dalamar was soon sweating. He barely noticed, the removal his cloak his only concession when the sun broke through the mist and started to beat down on his back. Everything felt dulled and detached, as though he was sleepwalking- or drowning- and time completely lost its meaning.

Even if Dalamar had been thinking, he wouldn't have cared; the peace was a relief, far away from the rest of the world. Beyond thought and beyond pain. There would be plenty of time to think later, but for the moment it was a welcome change just to walk, and let the monotony push away the memories of the last few days.

Dalamar's foot slipped.

It really was exactly as though he had been asleep, and waking was anything but pleasant. He stumbled, scratching his hands raw on the ground as his foot caught in a small gully hidden by the long grass. His ankle twisted painfully and the sudden cold of the water soaking through his robes shocked him back to consciousness. Dalamar felt as if someone had slapped him, and the world returned as sharply as though he had. The welcome numbness that had accompanied for that past few days vanished and drew a deep breath, feeling like he was resurfacing from a deep dive.

Dalamar pulled his leg out of the hole; his robe was soaked halfway to the knee with murky water that stank of rotting vegetation. He sat back on the hillock, hugging his leg against his chest and rubbing the sore muscle. If Raistlin was here, it would be him doing that, or perhaps crouching behind him, rubbing his shoulder and asking if he was alright. If Raistlin had been there, he wouldn't have given his presence a second thought. Like missing a limb, he only really realised how important Raistlin was to him when the young mage was gone.

Dalamar shoved the thought away impatiently. Dwelling on this wouldn't bring Raistlin back any sooner. As he had in Silvanesti, he held the pain at bay, promising to give it time once he and Raistlin were reunited. He could feel as much as he wished then.

Dalamar shook his head to clear it, and his eyes landing on the creek he had caught his foot in. It was only one of many, he realised. The ground as far as he could see was broken up with them. He could see quite a long way, the mist must have lifted without him realising it, and he could now see that what had at first looked like rough ground was actually now the beginning of a thick marsh. Looking up, his eyes met the rearing towers of the northern Dagaard Mountains- he must be further south than he'd first thought. Still further up and no wonder. The sun was sliding down in the sky now, he must have been walking the whole day and it was now past mid afternoon.

As though the realisation had prompted it, Dalamar's body chose that time to make its complaints heard. His legs hurt and his back ached, he was hungry and thirsty and tired. Dalamar stretched his sore leg out gingerly; it still hurt, but not as badly as before. He settled himself more comfortably on the muddy ground, and pulled out his waterskin. He shook it and winced before laying it aside. He'd best eat first since he'd just be thirsty afterwards if he had a drink now. The waterskin was half-full at best and he wanted to make it last. The marsh here was not like the swamps of Xak Tsaroth, a drowned forest; there was little real water here, but mostly mud. Drinkable water would be hard to find.

Food was dry bread and salt pork that he had to fight to choke down. A mouthful of water finished off the meal and Dalamar forced himself to his feet, tested his sore leg, and started off again.

If the numbness in his mind had kept him from thinking before, the treacherous ground did the same now. Dalamar had to keep his eyes constantly on the ground, picking out the best path through a labyrinth of gullies and sinkholes. His neck ached and his head pounded, trying to keep himself on dry ground. Even so, he was constantly slipping. Sometimes the creeks were concealed by tufts of grass or the side of a hillock was too muddy and he lost his footing. By the time the sun was setting and Dalamar had found a relatively dry scrap of ground to sleep on, his boots were caked in mud and his robes wet through to the knee.

The ground was firm, and though it was too wet to make a fire, the night was not as cold as Dalamar had been used to. As tired as he was, Dalamar lay awake for a long time, staring out into the darkness of the night. He felt weaker than he had for a long time. His time with Raistlin had weakened him, he realised, the young mage had laid his heart open, and it was so much harder to close it now, so much harder to ice over his emotions and freeze the pain.

He felt horribly vulnerable, alone. Alone. Even when he'd been exiled, he'd not felt so alone. He had always been alone before he met Raistlin, but this was the first time he'd known how it could be different. He had almost forgotten what it felt like after all this time, but now, wet and cold and yes, afraid, he remembered too well.

Dalamar closed his eyes, he'd known what he was getting into when he'd decided to stay with Raistlin, and there was no point in dwelling on the downside of laying himself open. He'd known the dangers of letting himself feel for anyone- anything- other than the magic, and he'd let it happen in the hope that the good would outweigh the bad. And the worst part was that he'd been right, what he'd had did outweigh this, which made everything even more intolerable.

The Dark elf's breath caught and he screwed his eyes shut against the tears picking his eyes. He would not cry. He had shed too many tears already. Tears would not help find Raistlin. Tears would not bring him the answers he needed. Tears would weaken him even more and he had too little water to waste them.

* * *

Dalamar didn't know how long he slept. When he opened his eyes, the first pre-dawn light was just appearing over the edge of the horizon. His throat was painfully dry, and he had to force himself from drinking more than the one mouthful he allowed himself. His robes were damp with dew and he sucked some of it off his sleeve. It wasn't much help, and what he drank tasted of the Blood Sea. Dalamar felt vaguely grateful when the clouds above opened and a light rain started to fall. He drew his cloak closely over his shoulders but didn't pull the hood up, instead tipping his head back and opening his mouth to catch the rain, swallowing a few mouthfuls of rainwater.  
Dalamar brushed his damp hair out of his face, feeling a good deal better. He drew his hood over his head and set off again over the marsh.

The rain that had been such a blessing rapidly became yet another problem. The ground had been sodden even before it started, and the excess water was quickly turning the marsh into a sucking bog. The drizzle made everything more than a few feet away seem indistinct, leaving only the vague outline of the mountains and the occasional skeleton of a dead tree. Dalamar could just about make out the first tentative shadows of the Khalkist mountains starting to the east, and the growing heights of the Dagaards to the west. Everything was grey and distant and more than anything, it brought home to the Dark elf just what an impossible task he had decided for himself. Having a task had cleared his mind, but unless he could think of a plan to follow he may as well be wandering in the marsh forever.

He'd had no clear idea before, only wanting to get away, somewhere separate from anyone and everyone. He needed to find Raistlin, he had to find him but where could he start? Certainly not here.  
Dalamar rubbed his eyes, he wanted Raistlin. It was absurd to think this here, now, but his thoughts were always clearer if his lover was there to talk to. But Raistlin was not here, and if he wanted to find him again he had to think of something.

Palanthas. If Raistlin was to head anywhere it had to be there. But was Palanthas even free anymore? If it wasn't, there was a good chance that those garrisoning the capitol of Solamnia would have been given their descriptions. Dalamar bit his lip. If Raistlin had been teleported there, he hoped he'd been able to get out. If he hadn't, it would be unlikely he would head there at all, and either way there would be little point in throwing himself into the jaws of the Dragonarmies. Dalamar carefully ignored the possibility that Raistlin might not have been able to get out, just as carefully as he had the knowledge that if he had been in Raistlin's position- alone and believing his lover dead- he might have just given up and not cared either way.

He had to find out what was happening here. He didn't have a map, but was familiar with the lay of the land. If he had been thinking, he wouldn't have been surprised he'd ended up in the marsh. He was in Estwilde, and while he'd never been here before, he had been to nearby Lemish, and knew the area. If he kept travelling south, he would eventually reach Firstwal. It would mean another day's trek over the marsh, but it would be probably the best place to pick up information. The city would be almost certainly overrun by the Dragonarmies, but being this close to Neraka it would be- like Balifor- a routine post for the soldiers stationed there. It wouldn't be too hard to pass as a Black Robe seeking employment by the Dragonarmies, and perhaps ask a few questions as to how the campaign in Solamnia was going. If Palanthas had been overrun, and Raistlin been caught, he would hear about it.

If it was but either he heard nothing about Raistlin, or heard he'd escaped, then it might be best to head the uncounted miles south to the Tower of High Sorcery and try and contact Raistlin from there- although the thought of the distance he'd have to cover was staggering. It would be Dalamar's last choice, if he had nothing else to go on.

If, however, he discovered that Palanthas was free, he would head further south for the Throtl Gap and strike east towards the capitol. It would probably be hard to slip through the Solamnic battle lines, but after the nightmares he had faced recently, the danger of a few Sturm Brightblades was laughable. It didn't matter if there were a hundred dragons standing between him and Palanthas- which there might well be- he would make it, because he could accept no other possibility.

He would get to Palanthas, and he would find Raistlin somehow. Then they would forget about the war, forget Berem and the Dark Queen and everything, and focus only on getting rid of whatever power had Raistlin in its claws.

It was too easy to imagine, seeing himself walking into the great library in Palanthas. He would see Raistlin there, hunched over a pile of tomes, exhausted and as heartsick as Dalamar himself but still driving himself on. Even red-eyed and worn out, the sight of him would steal Dalamar's breath, and he wouldn't be able to do anything but stand there. Raistlin would look up and see him then. He would turn pale with shock and almost fall off his seat. He'd stand, and stumble over to him, and then they would fall into each others arms, weeping in relief and release and hold each other forever.

The image was so real, so unbearably wonderful, that Dalamar didn't dare hold it in his mind for very long, it was so painful. The dream had razor edges, and Dalamar bit back tears; he would, in that heartbeat, have given anything for it to come true.

The image was a spur, and Dalamar used it appropriately, pushing himself on as mercilessly as the Raistlin in his daydream had. The mud was deeper now, although the rain had stopped some time ago. It made little difference though, there was nothing to see, just the endless marsh stretching away to the towering mountains on either side of him, and onwards seemingly forever before him.  
The Khalkists and the Dagaards were the only landmarks, and fortunately, they were the only ones Dalamar needed. He knew that Firstwal was at the foot of the Dagaard Mountains so he aimed for them.

Night fell, but Dalamar paid it no attention, pushing on regardless. His eyes were keen enough to see where he was going, and he was still far enough away from Firstwal not to risk missing it in the dark. In the first days of his exile in the Plains of Dust he had often pushed on through the night when it snowed, rather than sleeping and risk never waking. Here, where the ground was still more mud than earth, he hadn't been able to find a patch of dry ground and was certainly not about to trust the marsh. It would be too ironic to survive the Blood Sea only to lose his life to an Estwilde bog. Besides, tonight, like so many of those nights after his exile, he simply couldn't face sleep and the dreams that waited for him.

The clouds cleared as the sun finally sank below the horizon, a cold night, but if he kept moving, he wouldn't feel it so much. The Dagaards finally swallowed the sun, and the shadows deepened to black. Dalamar pulled his cloak more closely around him, it had dried out somewhat and he was grateful for it as the night grew colder. The muddy hem of his robes clung unpleasantly to his legs, and Dalamar wondered what sort of impression he'd make upon arriving at Firstwal- he should reach it tomorrow morning if he kept walking all night- A dishevelled Dark elf, exhausted and soaked through with mud. Hardly the desired result and not one that would convince the Dragonarmy guards of the truth of his story. They would probably believe him a deserter and order him arrested. He would have to clean himself up as best he could, although that would mean using up yet more of his precious water-

Dalamar stopped, shook his head and laughed, his voice was horrible hoarse. He must be truly in a terrible state to forget what he was! To be so lost in grief to forget the power that was his right! Dalamar paused and ran one hand over the spell components still strapped to his waist, and touching his worn backpack and the spellbooks it contained. The pouches were waterproofed and the spellbooks ensorcelled against mundane damage- including water- they would be fine. He had been able to retain only a few spells in his mind, but they would be enough to help improve his appearance. It was tempting to cast some small cantrip to clean himself now, but it wouldn't make any difference, come the morning, he would be just as filthy as he was now.

Dalamar pulled his hood off, and looked up. The moons had risen, and Nuitari was just visible between the Khalkist Mountains. It was gibbous tonight, waxing towards full- a good sign; his magic would be all the stronger. Dalamar drew a deep breath, as though breathing in his patron's power, drawing strength from the magic, and soldiered on, step by step onwards.  
That he could have been so distracted by Raistlin to forget the magic worried him. He remembered how, when they first met, Raistlin had been so disturbed to begin with. He had seen how much he would have to give for them to continue together, and what it would mean. Dalamar had seen it in his eyes, but hadn't realised himself how much the other mage's presence would come to matter to him... Perhaps even more than the magic?

No. Never that much. But equal to it? Yes. So much more dangerous too. He would never- could never- lose the magic, but as recent events had proved, he could lose Raistlin. And be as destroyed by the loss as much as he would be if he lost his magic. Such a fragile pillar, to rely on to support his existence.

And if it came for him to choose?

Dalamar prayed that day would never come, because it was not a choice he could ever imagine making. He shoved the thought from his mind. Realistically, it was not a choice he would ever have to face, not even in his Test. It wasn't as though practising the magic and loving Raistlin were mutually exclusive. Still, the fear lingered.

Dalamar stumbled over a hillock and cursed, for a moment he considered summoning light, then discarded the idea. Doing so would alert everything in a mile radius to his presence and while the marsh had so far appeared deserted, he didn't want to push his luck. He didn't need the light, and wanted to cast simply for the sheer sake of casting, of reminding himself of what he was, but to waste his energy in such a foolish way would hardly help him.

* * *

The night seemed endless, as had all nights when Dalamar hadn't let himself sleep. Solinari rose reluctantly, marking midnight and making it far easier to see by. Lunitari lurked along the edges of the horizon, half-full and sending Dalamar's bloody shadow criss-crossing across the marsh. Nuitari remained below the Khalkists, although Dalamar knew from memory that it would rise to the peak of the night sky when it was full. For tonight thought, his patron's moon seemed to be caught between the clutching fingers of the mountains.

The moons set slowly shortly before dawn, and for a few moments Dalamar had to stop, having to wait for even his eyes to adapt to this deeper darkness. He had lost track of how far he had gone, and was relieved when the faint pre-dawn light silhouetted the shape of a walled city in the distance.  
The sun rose slowly, and Dalamar was able to make out the weathered walls of Estwilde's northern city.  
The town was perched on a rocky outcropping which rose up to join the Dagaards, seeming almost to be part of the mountains itself. The ground seemed to grow drier the closer it was to the city, but Dalamar couldn't muster the energy to be relieved.

As the sun's warmth reached the ground, the mud seemed to steam and Firstwal seemed as though it was floating on a bank of clouds- and just as unreachable. Like a mirage, the further Dalamar walked, the more distant the city seemed to be. He felt more tired than he had during the night- if that was possible- his robes were heavy with mud, and he wondered if it might be worth stopping and cleaning himself with the cantrip at this point. The town did look closer now, and as Dalamar thought this over, the next step took him at long last onto dry land. He'd finally reached the low hills running alongside the mountains.  
Dalamar looked up, the city was still uncounted miles away, but it looked as though the going would be relatively dry from now on. He drank the last of the water, and focused his mind on casting.

The spell was the first spell Dalamar had cast for longer than he cared to think. He'd memorised it in anticipation of a wet voyage on the Perechon, and hadn't even planned to use it on himself at all, Raistlin always got sick easily and wet robes wouldn't help.  
Dalamar forced awake the pain the memory evoked, and focused on the spell. It was a cantrip, the least of spells, and used no spell components, but the familiar warmth of casting, the sweet exhilaration of the magic did more to warm him than the effect of the spell. The mud sloughed off his robes, peeled off his boots and cloak. The damp that seemed to have been ingrained in the fabric evaporated, leaving his clothes as warm and dry as if they'd been lying the sun for hours.

The delight of casting vanished and Dalamar stumbled, exhaustion hitting him as hard as if he'd been hit by an iron bar. His eyes itched with tiredness and his head swam. Dalamar rubbed his eyes irritably and continued walking, checking through the contents of his belt pouch as he went. He had lost a lot of the steel he'd kept there, probably by being thrown around on the Blood Sea- unless the sea elves were not as honourable as they'd seemed- but he'd had more than a fair amount to begin with. Tanis and the others had paid for the first half of the voyage on the Perechon, he and Raistlin would have paid the rest had they arrived in Kalaman. Again Dalamar pulled his mind away from the jagged edges of those thoughts and counted through what money he had. Twenty, thirty steel maybe. Enough to buy food for the long journey to wherever he was going. Not enough to head to Wayreth- if it came to that- but hopefully enough to make it to Palanthas.

But first, Dalamar decided firmly as the walls of the fortified city came into view at long last, he would find a cheap inn and book a room for the night. However much he wanted to go and keep going without rest or food, he needed both badly. Without them, he wouldn't make it very far.

* * *

The gates of Firstwal were not ornately decorated, nor where they graceful, they were what they had been built to be: Imposing and impenetrable. Scour marks along the reddish iron shown that they had proven themselves many times, but the gate guard proved that they had failed at least once.

The grotesque face of a draconian peered between a crack in the gates, its brassy jaws- full of grey teeth- grimacing in annoyance.  
Dalamar forced his face to remain impassive beneath his drawn hood; he'd known the town would probably be overrun- had counted on it in fact. The draconian's irritation proved that he had been right about another vital factor. Firstwal was poorly guarded- the draconian had clearly been asleep at its post before Dalamar's footsteps had roused it.

"Whaddya what?" It yawned.

Dalamar wondered if he should use his cover story, then discarded it. If discipline was so lax, it may be worth taking a risk. He glowered at the draconian with all the frustration and pent-up anger of the last few days. The creature stumbled back at the sheer venom in the Dark elf's eyes.

"What do ya want?" It repeated, far more hesitantly and respectfully.

"For you to let me in." Dalamar snapped; his voice was hoarser than he'd expected it to be.

"Who're you?" The draconian insisted, and Dalamar sighed internally. It could never be so easy, could it?

"Someone who will make your miserable life far more wretched if you do not let me in immediately!" This time fear for its own life overcame the draconian's suspicions and it backed away nervously, pulling the gate open.

Dalamar stepped through, straight-backed and fearless, trying to copy the arrogant stride of the Dragon Highlords. Acting as though he expected to be obeyed often worked wonders, although when it didn't it almost inevitably meant a fight- something Dalamar certainly didn't want, especially here.

"You better find Lady Fellway." The shaken draconian added. "She'd want to see someone like you."

Dalamar inclined his head and started away. He didn't want to risk questioning the draconian, the creature had barely believed his bluff, and he didn't want to push his luck. He certainly wasn't about to meet with this 'Lady Fellway' whoever she was, so Dalamar decided his best chance was to head to the best place to hear news, told by people who would not be at their most observant. The local tavern.

Firstwal was fairly typical of most fortified towns Dalamar had seen, unlike many larger cities, which had burst out of their fortifications long ago, Firstwal was still barricaded inside of its walls. The buildings were crammed together so tightly that even the main thoroughfares were overshadowed by the houses. They were taller than most houses Dalamar had previously seen, as though the town's inhabitants had made up for lack of space by building upwards.

There were quite a number of inns and taverns, but Dalamar kept walking, waiting until one in particular caught his eye. It had obviously once been someone's home that had been opened- whether willingly or not- to the Highlords' troops. The house was one of the taller ones, and set aside from the others by what had once been a little garden. In a place where any space was precious, whoever had lived here had been wealthy.

They didn't live here any more, that was clear. What had once been a garden was now a torn up patch of ground littered with smashed bottles and fragments of broken armor. Many of the mullioned windows had been smashed, then covered with oilcloth. Despite the early hour, it was still open, the door hanging half-open drunkenly, allowing a glimpse of the interior. Dalamar saw the outlines of several draconians, and a few more human or humanoid figures.

Deciding that this would probably be the best place to find what he wanted to know, Dalamar drew his hood further over his face and stepped inside.  
Had he done this in any of the other taverns he'd passed, Dalamar suspected that everyone inside would have stopped dead at his arrival, wondering what a Dark elf was doing here- attention Dalamar definitely did not want.

But here, where the only one drunker than the patrons was the bartender, no one so much as looked up as Dalamar entered. 'The inside of a tavern is always dark', as they said in the Trough, and nowhere was it truer than here. The oilcloth used on the windows was too thick, dimming the sunlight to such an extent that Dalamar was tempted to use his elvensight to avoid walking into anything. He decided against it, and sat down next to a likely-looking individual.

The person looked human, and was hunched over a large tankard of something Dalamar didn't want to speculate on, with the pained and shaking demeanour of someone suffering from a severe hangover. Sober enough to be of use, but in too much pain to be too curious.

The figure looked up as Dalamar sat down; no, not a human at all, as Dalamar would have seen had he used his elvensight. A hobgoblin, and one very different from the cowardly Fewmaster Toede he remembered from Solace. Despite the blotched face and blood-shot eyes that spoke of one too many nights on the barroom floor, this creature looked formidable, with a notched dagger in its belt and a suit of mail that- if clean- would have made Caramon jealous. Fortunately, the creature didn't seem to be looking for a fight, and gave Dalamar a quick nod of greeting.

"Where' you from?" It grunted, taking a heavy gulp of foul liquid.

"Flotsam," Dalamar answered, trying to deepen his voice as much as he could to disguise it. Flotsam was under the control of the Dragonarmies, far enough away that it would explain his ignorance of current events, and best of all for deception, relative truth.

"Bi' far from 'ome, aintya?" The hobgoblin looked at Dalamar over the rim of its tankard.

Dalamar nodded.

"Watcha doin' here anyway?"

Dalamar rolled his eyes and shrugged, letting the creature draw its own conclusions. It cackled, then brought a clawed hand to its forehead and groaned. "Takhisis' dung... S' you here like da rest o' them, eh? For da big meetin'?"

Dalamar shrugged again, letting the hobgoblin believe what it wanted to, whatever this 'big meeting' was, it wasn't his problem. "Do you know what's happening here?" He relaxed back in the rickety chair, as though he couldn't care less

The hobgoblin's ugly face contorted into an even uglier grimace. "We're all waitin' for da Blue 'ighlord to finish with Palanthas, den we get up to Neraka for the bloody big meetin' they're putting together up there. Waste o' time, we got the bloody knights beat, why don' we just get in there?" Carried away, the creature raised its voice and beat a fist on the table, regretting it immediately. The hobgoblin dropped the tankard and cradled its head in its hands.

"So they've finished with Palanthas?" Dalamar probed, trying to ignore the cold knot of fear in his stomach.

"No' yet," the creature rubbed its face and looked up, "But they aint gonna last long. No' now the Dragon 'ightlord's got their Golden General. Gonna give up tomorra, I bet."

Dalamar nodded, struggling to hide the rush of relief he felt at the hobgoblin's words. So Palanthas was still standing, and still free. All the more reason for Raistlin to head there. If the city would surrender, then it might not be razed as Tarsis had been. Perhaps he could hide in this Highlord's armies when they marched on Palanthas, then break away to look for Raistlin once they reached the city.

"Bu' I bet _you_ aint gonna have to wait," The hobgoblin continued, "Ariakas' saying that all da mages gotta go to Neraka, gotta get da Temple ready for da meeting. Waste o' time, dunno why he needs you lot nows 'e got that new mage. We could do wi' a few o' your sort."

Dalamar had been considering accepting the offer- after all; it got him where he wanted to go- when the hobgoblin's words fully sank in. He started out of his chair and grabbed the creature's wrist, all thoughts of Palanthas forgotten.

"What _new mage?"_

* * *

_Review please._

_Skull Bearer._


	5. For Tune

_La Comtesse de Cagliostro: Sorry for the delay, this chapter was very difficult. Thank you for all the reviews._

_Tiernan Hunter: I don't know, you'd better ask Fistandantilus ;). Thank's for the review._

_WalkingInDarkness737: Thank you._

_Shadow: You spelt it right, actually. Thank you and I'm glad I could distract you._

_Ceretis Paribus: Thanks!_

**Alvorecer**

Chapter five- Fortune

_Her mouth was an empty cut  
And she was waiting to fall  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_There was no sense of time behind those grey walls. Raistlin didn't know if an hour, a day or a month had passed in the outside world. He felt things, now and then, a few outside sights and feelings strong enough to filter through, however faintly, into his prison. There was nothing else._

_Raistlin had never felt so helpless, behind this wall of thought. He tried not to think about it, but having no hope made it so much harder to fight. He tried not to think of being trapped in here, tried to think of anything but the knowledge that Dalamar was dead- Stop. Please stop. He couldn't think on that, he could barely hold the idea in his head, shying away from it behind the grey shield of shock. Stop._

_But in this grey place there was nothing to do but think, and despite himself, Raistlin's mind kept circling back to dwell on those thoughts._

_Oh, he still fought, scrabbling around the edges of the wall for a break in its fortification, no longer a besieging army but a rat scratching for a way in and just as useless. And Fistandantilus knew it._

_That was the most desperate thing of all. He hadn't felt the lich's presence since he had left him behind those wall, crippled by the memories he didn't dare think about. Fistandantilus had been so confident that Raistlin couldn't do anything that he no longer even bothered to check._

_And while Raistlin would have liked to believe that Fistandantilus was being overconfident, and that would be his downfall like so many fairy-tale villains, he knew better than to deceive himself. Fistandantilus had not survived this long if he made such easy mistakes. If he was so confident that there was no way out, then chances were, there wasn't._

_Still he kept searching, more to distract himself from the grief and despair crowding in on him than of any real hope of success. Locked and lost within his own mind, the very ghost he had mocked Fistandantilus for being. His magic stolen for Fistandantilus' use, his body dancing to the lich's puppet strings, and he himself only tolerated until his captor found some way of killing him._

_Gods, what was the point? The walls were as high, as unyielding as ever, and why even try? What would be the point? He didn't know where he was, or what Fistandantilus was making him do. But he knew Dalamar was gone. Dead, he'd left him to die. He'd left him as he had in Silvanesti. Raistlin tore his thoughts away, focusing on the barrier before him, trying desperately to hide from the grief still tearing at him, and the knowledge that if this was to be his fate, death might not be such a terrible thing._

* * *

"What new mage!" Dalamar repeated, his voice rising to a pitch that made the hobgoblin wince. He didn't notice, nor did he notice that he was on his feet, or that they were now the centre of attention of the entire bar.

The hobgoblin stared at him as though he were mad, "Da new mage. De one 'er Dark Majesty sent-"

Dalamar grabbed the creatures wrist, the greasy skin grinding under his fingers. "The Dark Queen _what?"_

The hobgoblin tried to pull away, but Dalamar's grip was like iron. "She- She sen' 'im. Sen' 'im to Ariakas, tol 'im to take 'im on-" Dalamar's grip tightened, he could feel the filth on the creature's skin slide under his nails. It winced- "B-bloody good wizard, I mean, I fough' wi' your lot coupla times, but dis one-"

"What does he look like!" Dalamar interrupted with a snarl. he knew, logically, that it was a ridiculously long shot- how could _Raistlin_, of all people, end up serving the Dark Queen?- but at the same time, it was too much of a coincidence.

"Black robe, like you." The hobgoblin finally managed to wrench its arm away, Dalamar's fingers had left red marks on the oily skin. Rubbing its arm, the creature frowned at him. "Ey, you don' know anythin' 'bout 'im, d'you? Cause _no one_ knows anythin' 'bout this one, 'cept mebbe da Blue Lady, an' she aint talkin'."

The Blue Lady... Kitiara? Yes, her dragons had been blue. And of course, she would know Raistlin. Too much coincidence.

"What does he look like?" Dalamar hissed through gritted teeth. "Describe his face- _What does he look like!"_ He was shouting now, and the sheer volume made the creature groan and cover its ears.

"Weird." The hobgoblin spat, rubbing its face. "No' as weird as yer are though," It scowled, "Weird. Gold skin, whi' hair- he aint old either- an' his eyes..." The hobgoblin trailed off, as though he was afraid of someone overhearing- which was likely, since every pair of eyes in the place was on them.

Dalamar took a deep breath. It _was_ Raistlin. Somehow, his young lover had ended up in the Dragonarmies. But how? And for Nuitari's sake _why?_ He couldn't imagine any way this could have happened. Perhaps he had only pretended to join them, as Tanis had, in order not to be executed? But if so, why would he draw so much attention to himself in announcing his presence to Ariakas? By what he'd heard, the man was the leader of the Dragonarmies. And why the reference to the Dark Queen?

Dalamar felt a cold hand snake up from his guts, and clench on his heart. He forced the words through suddenly frozen lips. "What about his eyes?"

The creature grimaced at the memory, and Dalamar knew what it was going to say before it opened its mouth. "Some o' yer lot, dey look at yer like they'd like ter see you dead, but 'im, it's like 'e's the dead one, and 'e's just waitin' for you to join 'im."

Dalamar swallowed hard, feeling sick to his stomach. Those eyes. Those dead eyes. From Silvanesti. From Flotsam. From the Blood Sea. Had whatever had happened to be him been so powerful as to keep control _this_ long? A cold chill, a sickening twist of realisation, Raistlin thought him dead. Had he given up then? Let whatever it was control him this completely?

"Where is he?" Dalamar's voice was a hoarse rasp.

The hobgoblin scowled at him again, "Why d'you wanna know?" it snapped, but not before Dalamar saw a spasm of fear cross it's face. He could guess its source.

Dalamar had no idea what he could say, so didn't say anything and looked at the creature with all the fury he could muster. It obviously wasn't enough, or the hobgoblin was made of sterner stuff than the draconian at the gate, even while hung over. "'o in da Abyss are yer anyway?"

"And who are you to question who I am, or what I want to know?" Dalamar hissed.

"Eh," The drunken barman raised his head from the tabletop, "Just tell him, Mitz, there aint going be a fight this early, you hear?"

The hobgoblin- Mitz?- flapped a hand half-heartedly, "I already tol' 'im, Arnd. 'e's in Neraka'. They're all in Neraka."

"For the meeting." Dalamar finished. He drew in a deep breath, only now realising how much attention their display had attracted, taking in the many different pairs of eyes, human and inhuman, staring back at him. Dalamar straightened, and stepped towards the door, hoping no one would challenge or bar his way.

No one did, and in fact, as he walked forward, they moved away. And despite the fear, and the sick feeling that sat on his stomach like a toad, he felt a blaze of satisfaction at seeing the fear on the creatures' faces. The respect. It took a lot of nerve to stand up to a hung-over hobgoblin; nerve, or connections. He remembered Eben's offer, an eternity ago in Pax Tharkas. This is what he had been offering, to be respected for his powers and talents in a way he would never be with the so-called 'goodly folk'. It was deeply tempting, but as before, the same image held him back.

Raistlin. Only now he had the memory of those dead eyes to further spur him on. Whatever it was that controlled him was allied with the Dragonarmies, or at the very least working with them, and if only because of that, he would forsake that respect. The respect he saw in the eyes in front of him was only a poor reflection of what he saw in Raistlin's.

Dalamar left the tavern, trying to ignore the whispers that followed him out into the street.

* * *

South of Firstwal, the marshland gave way to plains that had once waved with wheat and long grass, but the crop this year was black. Spears and banners grew in these fields, a poisonous, deadly weed. 

The image was one Dalamar knew he would be remembering for longer than he wanted to. He remembered his first imaginings of an army of draconians so long ago in Solace. If he could only have foreseen this... he would have dragged Raistlin to the Tower of High Sorcery and barricaded both of them in there until this madness was over.

Verminaad's army had been awe-inspiring, and the dragon that razed Tarsis terrifying, but it was the sheer _numbers_ in the valley before him that made Dalamar stop in his tracks. The Dragonarmies crawled over everything, like ants from a disturbed anthill, stretching all the way from the Throtl gap into the Khalkists, with scarcely a square of ground to be seen. Banners cracked in the wind, the only bright spots of colour in the terrible sea, red, green, blue, more black.

It was madness to head down there, but what were the other options? Dalamar could no more turn back and abandon Raistlin than he could learn to breath water, and this was the only way to him. He was a Black Robe, of the Order of Magic-users allied with the Dragonarmies, there was no reason that he _should_ be questioned, or that those doing the questioning should recognise him as being part of the band that had caused so much trouble. Dalamar gritted his teeth, unable to convince himself, as though he could ever be so lucky.

If he had known it would come to this, he would probably have accepted Eben's offer of sanctuary. He had enough trouble without adding to it.  
With a sigh, Dalamar headed down to join the never ending river that flowed from west to east.

Lower down and closer to, Dalamar could see that that river of men was not moving as smoothly as it had seemed as seen from Firstwal. The plains of Estwilde were besieged on either side by swamp, and the marching armies had to be forced through the narrow bottleneck of traversable ground. The Dragonarmies barely had space to breathe, let alone march, and with the added pressure of needing to return to Neraka on time, more than a few tempers had run short.

Even as Dalamar drew close, a fight broke out between a regiment sporting a black banner and one with a green. The banners swayed like stalks of barley as the standard bearers used the poles to beat at their opponents, the other members setting to with fists and kicks. Dalamar picked up his pace, hoping the distraction would prove to be the chance he needed.  
Once again luck was with him, and by the time the first blade was drawn and the Dragonarmy officers waded in to restore order, the black regiment had a new member.

Dalamar drew his hood as far down as it went, and hid his hands in his sleeves. While he doubted he would be stopped outright if they discovered he was a Dark elf, being recognised would attract more attention. Perhaps enough attention to wonder at the worn state of his robes, or his exhausted state- things a high ranking Black Robe in the Highlord's service would certainly not allow. Enough to start asking questions that Dalamar certainly didn't want to answer. While he needed to get to Neraka as quickly as possible, he didn't want to do so in chains.

But as Dalamar had hoped, no one paid him much attention, the chaos of the march meant that soldiers were constantly getting separated from their regiments and joining others. Perhaps they thought he was a former member who had just rejoined before they had, or someone from another part of their army who had lost his regiment and attached himself to the first group he found. Either way, they obviously believed he had the right to be there, because no one challenged or even spoke to him. The men had given him a quick glance, then returned their gaze to the ground.

Dalamar kept his head bowed, his hood hanging loosely, obscuring his face as he kept his gaze on the ground. There was nothing to look at. The land was utterly featureless, and only marginally drier than the marsh had been, thanks to the rain. The ground under his feet was little better, a dirty sea of mud and grass crushed under the thousands of marching feet.

Even when he dared to raise his head to get his bearings, there wasn't much to see. The Khalkists were still as distant as ever, no matter how hard he forced his exhausted body, and he was surrounded on all sides by the Black Dragonarmy.

The flags had not been, as he had first thought, emblems of the various regiment, but rather a rallying point for members of the same Dragonarmies. They were soon joined by many other regiments, all flying the same black flag. Voices were raised as the troops called to each other. Dalamar kept his head bowed, turning aside any questions that might be thrown his way, but kept his ears pricked for any information.

There wasn't much, the Black Dragonarmy was under the command of someone called Lucien of Takar, they had been stationed mostly in the Ogre lands of Blode, and seemed rather glad to be moving again, even if it was to Neraka. There was also, he noticed, a marked lack of draconians in the army, Dalamar counted barely two regiments of the creatures flying their colours and those were being avoided by the other members, mostly made up of human mercenaries. He also noted, with a sinking heart, that he was the only magic user he could see, and that he was drawing more than a few glances.

Dalamar gritted his teeth, and tried not to think about anything. It wasn't hard. He still hadn't slept, he had barely stayed in Firstwal long enough to re-fill his waterskin and the adrenalin he had been running on since he'd left the town had worn off. His eyes itched and his body felt heavy, all but begging for rest. He was utterly exhausted and it was only just past midday. He had no idea how he was going to last until sundown, but at least it kept him from thinking.

And Gods, it was best not to think. Even assuming he could reach Neraka without being discovered, what then? Would he charge in, throwing himself into the jaws of the Dark Queen, the very thing for which he had scorned Half-elven-

Dalamar's head snapped up, no longer noticing his exhaustion. He had completely forgotten about the others! The fools would also be heading for Neraka, with Berem. But then, Dalamar thought, that might not actually be such a bad thing. Yes, he would rather not meet then ever again, but having them there might just provide the distraction he needed to find Raistlin.

To find Raistlin, and then what? Dalamar reminded himself. Did he imagine that his mere presence would be enough for Raistlin to fight off what was controlling him? That, as in a fairy-tale, the Dark curse would be broken by a lover's kiss?  
He smiled weakly, realising that this was exactly what he was expecting. Raistlin had fought these attacks off before, and if he could just see him alive, he would do so again. Dalamar bit his lip, besides, what else _could_ he do? He knew he couldn't leave Raistlin, so the risk would have to be taken.

But what was it that had done this? What was it that was powerful enough to control _Raistlin_ of all people, the most strong-willed person Dalamar knew? If Dalamar ever saw Raistlin again, he would force him to tell him. Not knowing was the worse torture. Not knowing what it was making Raistlin do or even what it was.

What, or who. 'He' Raistlin had described it as. They were allied with the Dragonarmies, or at least working with them, and Raistlin had first come into contact with them during his Test.  
That was all Dalamar knew for certain, and he wasn't going to waste his time on maybes and theories when he knew so little. It was like trying to work out a puzzle with most of the pieces missing. To know so little about a foe, but still decided to face it was incredibly foolish, but then so was everything else he was trying to do.

There was no point dwelling on this, but there was nothing he could do but think. The march was monotonous and seemed endless, although the Khalkists were finally growing closer, their slopes bare and rocky. No one in the ranks spoke anymore, the only sound that of stamping feet and rattling weapons.

The feeling of danger was impossible to suppress, if any of these people knew who he really was, he wouldn't stand even the breath of a chance. The image of being discovered and attacked, those far-too-sharp blades rising and falling flashed into Dalamar's head, and he shook it hard, trying to shove the thought away. A nearby officer glanced at him, and Dalamar's blood froze, wondering if his vision was going to come true after all. The man frowned, then turned away, and Dalamar discovered how to breathe again.

Nuitari. Dalamar shook his head again slightly, oh Nuitari. He really needed his God's help now. He needed all the help in the world if he was going to come out of this alive, let alone with Raistlin.

* * *

But luck seemed to be on Dalamar's side, and when the army finally ground to a halt, he hadn't been challenged or even looked at again. The sun had vanished long ago, and the Khalkists' shadows hung heavy over them, Dalamar thought he could make out some buildings some distance away, and he thought there might be a fence nearby, but to be honest he simply couldn't pay much attention to them, or to anything else.

He was so tired every inch of skin felt hyper-sensitive, and his eyes ached as though even these muscles were screaming. By the time the officers called a halt, he didn't even bother to take out his bedroll, just throwing himself down to the rough, tussocky ground.

He could hear voices nearby, and even through the haze of exhaustion and the screaming need for sleep, he recognised the clipped tones of the Dragonarmy officers. He tried to lift his head, but his body refused to obey. Dalamar closed his eyes tightly, hoping they wouldn't see him, praying for his luck to hold, even while he wondered how long this good fortune could last.

_Skull Bearer._


	6. For Gotten

_Tiernan Hunter- Dalamar can been pretty frightening when he loses it, and I think he's got a good excuse to right now._

_La Comptess de Cagliostro: Well, I'm a lot addicted to Raistlin/Dalamar, so don't worry._

_Shadow: Dalamar is having a really bad week. So's Raistlin for that matter. Fistandantilus, on the other hand, is having a great time._

_LJ-_

_ShadowValkyrie: -evil laughter-_

_DeviantArt-_

_Halokitty: It's a pretty headdesk moment, isn't it? Poor Raistlin. Poor Dalamar too for that matter._

_Vanyali07: Thank you._

**Alvorecer**

Chapter six- ForGetting

_Just bleeding like a polariod  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_He had stopped fighting, too shattered, too heartsick to even try. Even if it was possible to win, to tear down the walls and take back control, the thought of the world he would be returning to was unbearable. He was alone, utterly, totally alone. Dalamar... Dalamar was gone. He was dead. Had died alone somewhere in the Blood Sea, his last thoughts of how Raistlin had betrayed him. Dalamar had told him once that when something truly terrible happened, the shock kept for from feeling it all at once. The Dark elf had smiled grimly, and added that it gave you time to choose if you wanted to live on or not._

_He understood that now, and now, here, Raistlin knew which one he'd chose. If only to spite Fistandantilus, if it was the only end possible... But yet, even if Fistandantilus was gone, if he had control of his own body again... even so, Raistlin didn't know which one he'd choose. Gods help him, he didn't know._

_The walls weakened suddenly, enough to allow him to see out; the world was fogged, dull, like frost on a windowpane. At first, he hadn't wanted to look, not wanting to see whatever cruel sight Fistandantilus wanted to taut him with. As though the lich would care, he paid no more attention to the prisoner in his stolen body than he had before. Something else had weakened the walls._

_Fistandantilus was casting._

_Raistlin still had enough of a sense of self to know that had he not been so destroyed, this would have been more unbearable than anything else the lich had done to him. It was /his/ power Fistandantilus was stealing, his magic he was bending to his own end. His body had never been more than a tool, but his magic.  
Had he not been so destroyed, he would have screamed. But then, had he now been so destroyed, he wouldn't be paying attention, he would be fighting, searching the wall for any weak spot, any break while the lich was too distracted to pay attention to him._

_He couldn't even do that, it felt as though his mind had fallen to pieces, unable to focus. Even the little he could see was blurred and confused, he couldn't concentrate to see clearly. The magic flared; a spell of warding, Raistlin's mind whispered. He could see his own hands, moving like a puppet's as they shaped the spell. A spell he had only ever seen in his spellbooks._

_Fistandantilus' spellbooks._

_The spell complete, his hands ended their dance, and the magic flared, tracing gleaming symbols in the air before fading into the darkness- he must be underground. There was no exhilaration though, Fistandantilus had stolen that too.  
The world faded from sight, Fistandantilus regaining control. Raistlin did nothing. Even if he had tried, even if he had thrown all the strength he had ever had at the barrier, Raistlin knew it would have been useless. He had built this wall, he had built and strengthened it over the months following Silvanesti, and he knew better than to believe that Fistandantilus would make the same mistakes he had._

_He was lost, he didn't know what to do. Just for it to end, he wanted to sleep and wake up to find it was all a dream, safe in bed with Dalamar beside him. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted it to end any way it could._

* * *

Dalamar had no idea how long it was before he finally fell asleep. Tired as he was, rest proved elusive, constantly dropping into a doze before starting awake, senses screaming danger. Finally, as Nuitari rose above the mountaintops, he slept.

It felt more like passing out than falling asleep, and on waking Dalamar did feel as though he had been knocked out. His head was screaming as though he'd spent the last night drinking, and the cold seemed to have crawled into his brain. Even this far north, the spring was much too young to be sleeping rough.

The only blessing of having fallen asleep at all, was that he felt marginally less tired than he had before, and that once again, he had been too tired to dream. Dalamar sat up stiffly, grateful that Nuitari seemed to be sparing him that horror at least. He didn't want to imagine what nightmares his sleeping mind might weave.

All the same, when the hissing, spitting sound reached his ears, Dalamar could almost believe this _was_ a nightmare.

A strange setting for a nightmare though, the clouds had blown away to the east and the sun was rising. They were almost in the Khalkists now, and Dalamar could make out the outlying buildings of a large farmstead through the morning mist, and horses behind the fences he'd seen last night.  
For all that Dalamar knew he was awake though, the creatures now swooping out of the dawn-tinged clouds make him think again. Their wings blocked out the rising sun and the stench of their hides made the horses shriek and try to kick their way through the fences.

Black dragons.

Six of the terrible creatures, some even bigger even than the one they had fought in Xak Tsaroth, their scales bearing the marks of recent battles. The rocks cracked under their claws as they landed, and spat and bubbled from the acid that dripped from their jaws.

Dalamar knew that, logically, the creatures before him were much weaker than the other dragons he had faced. He had read as much when he and Raistlin had believed them to be little more than kender tales. The red dragons from Tarsis and Pax Tharkas would dwarf the ones before him here, and even the blue dragons that had chased them across the Blood sea were far more fearsome. He had also known that since he was in the Black Dragonarmy, he could only expect to run into the creatures sooner or later.

And once again, Dalamar was hit by the difference between bracing himself for something and being confronted by it. The dragonfear crawled up like bile, bring with it the memories, and for a moment every dragon was the same one he had faced in Xak Tsaroth, the same one that had flow at them from the well, that had nearly killed Raistlin in front of him, that had nearly killed them all.  
And how much worse was it now, to face these creatures alone.

The last lingered, no matter how hard he fought to crush it down. Alone. He remembered Raistlin under the dragon's claws, of how much he wanted to go to him, never mind that he couldn't have done anything. Not wanting to leave him. Dalamar gritted his teeth. No, not now. He would not think of this now.

Unlike in Xak Tsaroth, _these_ dragons paid no attention to him, thank Nuitari. Because if he had been helpless before, it was nothing to how hopeless the situation was now. Alone, against creatures so huge a team of horses could have been driven between their forelimbs, and with jaws large enough to swallow an ogre.

The last was adequately demonstrated as one of the larger wyrms, obviously tiring of its rider, lazily snaked its head back and snapped up the unfortunate creature in a single bite. The ogre's metal armor screamed as the dragon's teeth closed on it, but the rider himself was dead before he even realised what was happening.

The other dragon riders eyed their mounts nervously, obviously wondering if they would follow the other's example. Dalamar remembered how Kitiara's dragon had braved the Maelstrom on her orders. No such loyalty here.  
He wasn't sure if this was a good think or not. On one hand, it meant discipline would be lax, and a check of the ranks would be unlikely, but on the other, no one would be able to stop the creatures if one of them wanted to find out what Dark elf tasted like.

This last thought was obviously shared by the rest of the army, who were backing away from the dragons with more attention to safety than dignity. The dragons ignored both them and the protests from their riders, the lead dragon, a huge, battle-scarred beast with dull black scales, reared back and cuffed the errant wyrm across the nose, snarling disapproval in its own language. The younger dragon snapped it's head back and gave a muffled snarl before insolently swallowing the last of its rider.

"Enough!" A booming voice rang out from the elder dragon's rider. Most of the riders seemed almost pathetic compared to their terrible mounts, but this one didn't. He stared around at the fearful dragonriders and the rest of he army, now a safe distance away, as though disgusted by their cowardice.  
Although this man didn't seem as though he would fear anything, even a pair of angry dragons. They had the height of an ogre, the build and grace of a human, but any more detail was hidden behind a huge suit of black steel plate that fitted him more like a carapace than armor. It was dull and unadorned, a heavy helm enclosing the head and a blank plate obscuring the face, leaving only two slits for eyes. While it had the shape of a Dragon Highlord's armor, it had none of the intricate decoration Dalamar had seen on Verminaad's or Kitiara's.

The featureless helm turned towards them, and the Highlord raised a gauntleted hand. Whips cracked and orders were bawled out as the army slowly started to move. The overseers and officers screamed and lashed out like farmers beating a particularly stubborn herd. Grumbling and growling, the army slowly started off, bedlam breaking out as confused regiments blundered into each other in their hurry to avoid the whips and blows. Makeshift tents and bedrolls were trample underfoot, Dalamar almost stumbled straight into the white-hot ashes of a campfire, and had to jump sideways to avoid it. Sleep had dulled his senses and he landed badly, twisting his ankle and barging straight into a warty-faced goblin.

Dalamar's hand went to his hood, keeping it from falling back. The goblin sent him a foul glance, but any words it might have said were lost in a roar from its officer, she bellowed at it to rejoin the regiment and punctuated her words with a blow with the flat of her blade. The goblin bared rotting teeth at Dalamar and loped away. Dalamar breathed a sigh of relief.

Good luck had carried him this far, but he didn't want to rely on it to take him any further. Only a fool would rely on good luck alone, but what else could he do? He had no spells to cast- it was with an unpleasant jolt that Dalamar remembered that he hadn't had time to study his spellbook the night before. Wonderful. To be in this mess, in the middle of the Dragonarmies, with nothing to defend himself but a dagger. And nothing to rely on but pure luck.

Just until Neraka, Dalamar prayed silently, just get me to Neraka. If all the armies were there no one would look at him twice. Please, just get me there. After that, he didn't know, he didn't know what to expect.

He would get to Neraka, take a look around and plan after that. That hobgoblin had known about Raistlin and if his lover- or whoever he was now- was this well known, then surely /someone/ would know where he was. There were surely taverns in Neraka, if there weren't, Dalamar was sure the whole Dragonarmy- or at least the draconian regiments- would have long since mutinied, Dark Queen or no Dark Queen. He would go there, as he had in Firstwal, and find someone to get answers from, perhaps pretend Raistlin was his superior. Few people asked about the affairs of mages, and hopefully they wouldn't here.

Dalamar tried not to think of what would happen after that, because he had no plan and no way of making one, which was so much worse. And while only a fool walked into a situation with no plan, it was a bigger fool who made plans when he didn't know what was coming.

* * *

Although the army was finally moving in more or less the right direction, the pace was slow, and not helped by the treacherous terrain they were crossing. There had been some confusion earlier, some of the regiments were confused about why they were heading east rather than south and had headed off in the wrong direction.

All the same, he did wonder why, if for no other reason that he wanted to get to Neraka as soon of possible, and for all that he'd only spent three hours here, he already hated this stretch of the Khalkists that the mercenaries around him were calling Taman Busuk. He wondered if, when the dragons had first returned, the first place they had wrecked their fury on was Taman Busuk. It would be hard to imagine what force save dragonfire could have warped the rocks around them into such impossibly twisted shapes. There were few trees, only the occasional stunted grove that seemed strangely dusty, and despite the season had only a few leaves clinging to their stunted limbs. The only forms of life present in any numbers- apart from the army itself, were the yellowing tussocks of mountain grass which they were currently trampling on.

Dalamar smiled in pained amusement. If Raistlin were here, he would probably have some teasing remark about Dalamar's elven nature showing itself at the most absurd times. The pain sharpened. If Raistlin was here, Dalamar had absolutely no doubt he would be feeling far, far better. The fears would be fainter, his confidence bolstered by the knowledge that they were both here, facing this together. But then, if Raistlin were with him, then they would not _be_ here at all. They would be on their way to Palanthas, or Kalaman, or Wayreth, or _anywhere_. The Abyss if they had to, as long as they were together.

Dalamar rubbed a hand over his face, he was tired, his nerves were frayed through, and as shameful as it felt to admit it, even to himself, he wanted Raistlin. Not to help him, or save him, or anything for Raistlin at all, but because he, Dalamar, wanted him. He wanted to be held by him, to be comforted and to be allowed to let go of his pain at long last, the way he had promised himself he would after the Silvanesti Nightmare.

And for the hundredth time, Dalamar hurled these emotions away. They couldn't help him, they could only weaken him at a time when he needed to be strong. As in Silvanesti, there was a place and a time for them, and the place was 'not here' and the time was 'not now'.

The army started slowly turning south at last, aided by many oaths and lashes from the officers. The ground was smoother here, unnaturally regular. As they went on, Dalamar saw it was the beginning of some ancient road. Cobbles still clung to the rock like survivors from a shipwreck, marking out the path that ran straight as an arrow through the Khalkists. The road must once have been a grand affair before the Cataclysm shattered it, the ruin was wide enough for a regiment to march abreast, and even so many centuries later, there were enough paving stones to make a smooth road, allowing the army to make much greater speed over the rocky and broken ground..

"Eyes on the road!" The Dragon Highlord roared, swivelling his bulk to stare back at the collumn, his voice loud enough to carry easily to the rear and making Dalamar's ears ring . He was surprised the man hadn't started an avalanche.  
He was also surprised at the order, as incomprehensible and pointless as it seemed. Even more surprising was the fervency at which the officers were obeying his orders, either they obeyed their mad leader to the point of absurdity, or their leader was no-so-mad and there really was a valid reason to keep their eyes on the road. Dalamar kept his head down, letting his hood hang low over his face, and didn't look to the right or left. It seemed to be the wisest option, and the shouts of pain from those who had disobeyed only reinforced this.

"March!"

* * *

"Halt!"

Dalamar had completely lost track of time. It could have been hours or just minutes since he had started marching, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had been sleeping on his feet. His legs ached and his back was stiff, so he could have been walking for some time, for all that he had no memory of it, or anything else since he had started the march. He risked a glance at the sky to check how long they had been walking, quickly in case the order to stare at the road was still standing.

Dalamar's eyes went wide.

The sky was black as pitch, the night sky blotted out by clouds, the same stormclouds he had seen so long ago on Abanasinia.  
There was no sign of the sun, they must have been walking long into the night. It seemed impossible, it had been no more than midday when they started the march.

The reason for their halt was obvious. No more than a hundred feet on, the road had been sliced clean away by a huge chasm, obviously a relic of the Cataclysm. Dalamar swallowed and tried to ignore the sneaking suspicion that if the order to halt had not been given, he would have kept on walking right off the edge of the cliff.

_'Eyes on the road!'_

Where were they? Dalamar wondered fearfully. How far had they walked on this strange road? He felt a sharp flash of anger at himself for having been so easily duped and enchanted. For a mage to fall prey to a spell like a common soldier was shameful, and might well have been deadly. He should have known better, even if _this_ was the last thing he would have expect. Now he had no idea where he was.

The same question was being asked around him. The Black Dragonarmy had slowly dragged to a halt, and the soldiers milled about, as dazed and confused as he was.  
The Dragon Highlord looked neither dazed nor confused, both he and his mount were as motionless as though carved from black granite. Between the darkness of the sky and the blackness of the mountains, man and rider were almost indistinguishable. Waiting patiently as his army recovered from the shock.

Dalamar looked away. Now what? He had no idea where they were, but the only road he could see was the one they were on, and there was no sign of it turning away from the rift splitting the land. To the south the chasm stretched on unbroken, vanishing into the distance with no sign of ending. To the north...

To the north was a bridge. It was set high in the mountains and the low clouds blurred it into a black line. The clouds were so thick that it took several moments for Dalamar's keen eyes to pierce it, picking out the details of a city that seemed to have been carved out of a mountain spur from which the bridge sprang. The dull red light of the torches filtered through the clouds, and glinted off the smooth stone of the walls, but any moonlight that might have provided more clues as to where they were was lost in the stormclouds.

The Highlord raised his hand, whips cracked, and the army slowly rumbled off towards the bridge and the fortified city.

* * *

The city was called Jelek, according to the stunned mercenaries, a town that should have taken at least two days march to reach, and was a halfway point between Firstwal and Neraka. Somehow, in one day they had covered almost half the distance. Considering that it had taken them until midday just to cross the ten miles to the enchanted road, this was staggering. If they could find he other half of the road on the other side of the chasm, they could be in Neraka by tomorrow evening. When everything was screaming at him to find Raistlin as quickly as possible, anything that got him to Neraka quickly was more than welcome. If they could find the road again on the other side, then Dalamar would be glad to take it, even if it meant taking the risk.

They were not on the road now though, and the process was sluggish. The army was stretched into a long line inching its way along the ridge between mountain and chasm.  
Like Firstwal, Jelek was a fortified city. Unlike Firstwal however, it was not built on the mountain spur so much as inside it, the inhabitants having tunnelled in like dwarves. The outer shell was a deep, smoky black from the fires that burnt by every opening in the walls, it was not only stormclouds which masked Jelek.  
The path was growing broader, more worn. Obviously well used. It was staring to climb steeply, cut into the living rock, and here and there Dalamar saw hollows carved into the sides of the walls, their bases slick with wax from the candles burning in each, lighting the way up. In places, the path grew so steep that stairs had been cut in, the steps bowed under the weight of countless feet and equally countless years.

They would have to stand against many more now. Dalamar's breath was sharp in his chest as he heaved himself up each step. The straps of his pack dug in painfully, and his shoulders ached from carrying the weight all day. He stopped for a moment, rolling his shoulders and trying to work out the aggravating pain in his muscles.

And again, Dalamar knew that if Raistlin had been there, he would have insisted on giving him a backrub that evening; Dalamar would have eventually given in and neither of them would have thought anything of it. It was easy to forget how important these little things were when they were always there.  
And how much it hurt when they were gone.

The walls around the path were higher, and it was not dirt but cobbles under their feet. Four of the dragons had taken to the air, circling overhead, their presence like an invisible weight pressing down on the climbers. The Dragon Highlord walked his mounts, leading the way up. They were passing the outskirts of he city, past houses burrowed into solid rock. There were no more candles now, there was no need. Each house they passed had a chimney cut through their wall, the light from the fires lit up the street and their smoke filled it.

Dalamar looked around, he was tired and his mind felt as though it was full of that same smoke. It seemed impossible to believe that just that morning he had been sleeping in a field of grass, and tonight he was here, in a place where it seemed not even brambles could grow.  
How could he had gone from one to the other so quickly?

Dalamar's mouth twisted into a smile, he had been wondering that ever since the Blood Sea. Everything was happening so fast, and all he could do was to focus, to keep his mind on the need to get to Neraka, even while he didn't dare to think of what would happen when he got there.

The road was leading up to the spire, growing narrower, so that the Highlord's dragon hand to furl its wings tightly to keep from scraping the walls. Ahead, Dalamar's eyes made out a deeper darkness, part of the spire that seemed somehow even darker than the rest, and in which no fires burnt. A tunnel.

The Highlord didn't slow, leading them straight in. It seemed more like a cavern than a tunnel, reminding Dalamar of the city of Thorbardin, a natural feature incorporated into the city. Holes in the ceiling let in light from the fires above, illuminating the rough stone walls, and the stalagmites that hung like dragon's fangs above their heads. The air was thick and choking with smoke, claustrophobic, despite that the ceiling was a hundred feet above his head. He could smell the black dragon's stench, a foul mixture of rotting fish and putrefying vegetation.

The tunnel turned sharply to the right, and Dalamar was surprised to see the night sky at the end. The fresh air was incredibly refreshing after the stale heat of the tunnel, Dalamar coughed to get the foul taste out of his mouth. They were on a huge plateau, one large enough to hold the entire army, on which was anchored one side of the bridge. Over it, Dalamar could just make out the outlines of Lunitari and Nuitari shining faintly through the clouds, both setting. Dalamar grimaced, if this was an omen, he hoped it was a false one.

The Dragon Highlord raised his hand, and Dalamar heard the soldiers around him give a heavy sigh of relief, and toss off their packs. Dalamar blinked, then gladly followed suit. If there were stopping here for the night, he wouldn't complain.  
He chose a spot beside the tunnel, not only was it out of the way, but there was a fire burning close by, offering enough light to read by. He had forgotten what he was once already, and he would not make the same mistake again. It was hard to concentrate on studying with sounds of a settling army all around him, and his eyes itching with exhaustion, but he had to. He had studied in worse places, and he doubted he had ever needed his spells more than he would need them tomorrow. He took his time, choosing each spell carefully. Every night, he chose his spells with the knowledge that his choices could be the difference between success and failure, but tonight, when the stakes had never been higher, it pressed down even harder. If he made the wrong choice, he would never see Raistlin again.

One way or another.

* * *

The bridge over the chasm was far older than Jelek, and if it dated from before the Cataclysm, it was not by much. The frame was made of vallenwood trunks, so old as to seem almost petrified, four of them, two to each side set in an 'x'.

Old as it was, it didn't even creak as the army started its long march across, for which Dalamar was grateful. Living in Solace might have cure him of any residual fear of heights, but no one could look down through cracks in the oaken boards and not feel the bottom drop out of their stomach. Most of the soldiers didn't dare, staring at the sky or trying to walk with their eyes closed. The dragonriders didn't dare to cross on foot, and flew over the chasm, but the Highlord forced his mount to walk across, looking straight ahead as though /daring/ the gulf to rise up and swallow him.

The ancient road started again as abruptly as it had ended, the cobbles almost intact on this side. It wound around the mountains and disappeared into a pass in the distance, apparently unbroken. Dalamar allowed a smile to touch his lips. If it did reach all the way to Neraka, he could be searching for Raistlin by this evening.  
The rest of the army obviously did not share Dalamar's pleasure at the sight. Even the slowest goblin knew that the road was enchanted, and were certainly not eager to trust their welfare to it. The Dragon Highlord was as blind to his men's discomfort as he had been to the drop, he gestured to the road, and the officers set to work, although there was a marked reluctance to their blows.

Slowly, sluggishly, the army was driven onto the cobbled stretch. Dalamar saw several mercenaries shoot him angry looks, as though he had been the one to chose this path. Dalamar met their eyes fearlessly; they were afraid, and they wanted a scapegoat. The only way to avoid that was to intimidate them until they decided to find an easier target to vent their fears on. One by one, they dropped their eyes.  
His heart beating in his throat, Dalamar turned back to the road. It was a fine line, to face down threats without drawing too much attention, and he suspected he would have to tread it more than once in Neraka.

Neraka.

He remembered his initial revulsion to the word, when he'd first heard it in drowned Istar- Gods, was it so few days ago?- from the sea elf and Tanis. How quickly it had become a benediction. To get to Neraka. To get to Raistlin. One and the same.

**"Eyes on the road!"**

_Skull Bearer._


	7. For Hope

_Shadow: Thank you, I know I'm getting a bit sidetracked, but I really liked writing this._

_Lord Anaki: Thank you, although it would be nice to hear from these people nudges readers remember to feed the author. Don't worry, I don't bite... much._

_Halokitty69: Thanks._

_Shadowvalkyrie: There! Finished at last, now will you stop bludgeoning me?_

_vanyali07: Thank you hugs back_

_Sorry for the slow updates, this fic is going through a tricky phase and juggling Dragonlance, X-Men, fledgling fandom House and a two-person war against the SA is tricky. Don't worry, I'm in no danger of abandoning this._

_Thank you to Analiathe1st and Roachspit for the beta._

**Alvorecer**

Chapter seven- For Hope

_Lost all her dolls -Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_He could feel it again, that terrible sense of dread that permeated even Fistandantilus' mental shields: the aura of the Dark Queen._

_Even behind the walls, Raistlin felt it, and knew that Fistandantilus was in Her presence again. He could see nothing of where he was, only this feeling, this fear, that crept through the wall like tendrils of smoke._

_Raistlin felt more than heard Fistandantilus' amusement, hidden behind a barrier as high and sturdy as the one behind which Raistlin was trapped. Hidden from even the Dark Queen's senses. The plots and plans of one seeking to overthrow her._

_Raistlin could see them, or at least something of them. The Dark Queen had returned to the world, but not completely. Fistandantilus could have helped Her, he could have used his knowledge and Raistlin's stolen power to destroy the last obstacle between Her and the world. But he didn't want to. He wanted the Dark Queen to return to the world-on /his/ terms. Not all-powerful, as She would be if he helped Her now, but weakened and vulnerable, making it possible for someone to kill her._

_And that was precisely what Fistandantilus was planning to do._

_Raistlin had known of the lich's plot to usurp Takhisis. Fistandantilus had told him himself, in his Test-_ and gods, gods, if he could only go back and warn himself not to listen to the foul creature. Taking his chances with the Guardian would have been a better choice_- but hearing the lich's thoughts and plans was something else. Because he would do it. And he could._

_But for now, the lich bided his time, hoarding his- Raistlin's!- magic and watching the Dark Queen, amused that even She couldn't pierce his web of deception and see him for who he was._

_The walls were too thick for Raistlin to see or hear anything of the world outside, but the Dark Queen's voice reverberated inside his mind as though they weren't there._

_**-I have not brought you here together to see your petty quarrels and pettier ambitions mar the victory I sense is fast approaching. Remember who rules here, Lord Ariakas.-**_

_They were in a gathering of Dragon Highlords? For a moment, interest superseded grief and Raistlin focused on the walls, trying to weaken them enough to see out. Distracted, Fistandantilus didn't seem to notice._

_What he could see was vague and dreamlike, as though he was peering through frosted glass. The cavernous room seemed filled with fog, but the hollow of darkness where the Dark Queen rested was as clear as ice. Raistlin could vaguely make out the figures of what must be the Dragon Highlords, reclining on pedestals. The highest one must belong to Ariakas, but it was the one next to him that attracted Raistlin's attention. Even through the mist, they looked familiar-_

_It was as though he had been struck by a lightning bolt, and for a moment the walls fell completely to Fistandantilus' shock. Raistlin caught just one clear glance of the two people on the pedestal before the walls came up again, thicker and more impenetrable than ever, and all he could see was white._

_It had been enough._

_Tanis?_

_Raistlin tried not to feel anything, tried not to think, because if he did, and dared to believe the sweet whispers of hope, he didn't think he could bare it if it was wrenched away again._

_But then again, what did he have to lose?_

_-That half-elf's alive- Raistlin felt Fistandantilus' thoughts as though the lich had carved them into his mind with letters of ice. -Saved by sea elves, no doubt. And perhaps the others too...-_

_The lich's thoughts trailed off with a sense of cold calculation, and then Raistlin felt a freezing claw wrap itself around his heart and mind, slowly crushing him. -But I do not think it is worth getting your hopes up. If any race truly detests dark elves, it is the Dagonesti. I hear some of them kill their exiles rather than let them go free. Your pet elf is dead and rotting on the seabed and the Dargonesti will consider the world well rid of him-_

_Raistlin wrenched his mind away, trying to fight back the sense of cruel despair creeping back to him. He had hoped, had dared to hope, and while part of him did still, hoping Fistandantilus' words were as much a lie as so many others he had told him, he could sense the truth. Fistandantilus wasn't worried, believing fully that the sea elves would have gladly left Dalamar to die._

_As he had._

_-So much harder to fight when you have nothing to fight for.- Fistandantilus mocked, then his voice feel silent, locking Raistlin back into his grey world._

* * *

Neraka was not what Dalamar had expected.

Just what he had expected, he didn't know. Perhaps something like Firstwal, or Jelek. A fortified city, perhaps swollen to the breaking point from all the new arrivals. Pinions flying on every pinnacle in mockery of the Solamnic tradition. Dragons perched in every available space.

Dalamar had heard of another city further south- Sanction- and perhaps _it_ was like that, but the place sprawling in front of Dalamar's eyes reminded him of nothing so much as the slums in Tarsis.

There was nothing of the dark glory he had been expecting. The walls surrounding the cesspool of a city- no, not a city, a village turned armed camp- were built of wood and rubbish. The buildings themselves were little more than hovels, sagging tents and rickety shacks that barely seemed capable of keeping the wind out. The Dragonarmies crawled over everything like worms through a corpse, the city walls almost bursting from the soldiers inside it, even while more fought to enter.

There was more, but something inside Dalamar didn't want to look at it. Anyway, he needed to focus on the walls; they would be the main barrier to getting in, after all.  
Yet, somehow, despite himself, his eyes were dragged from assessing the walls to the one structure that seemed to be holding the entire mess together. Without it, Dalamar half expected the hovels and mercenaries, and even the filthy ground, would fly apart.

The Temple of the Dark Queen.

He didn't need to be told what it was, he already knew. It was written in every turret, in every delicate column, in every flying buttress. It didn't remind Dalamar of Firstwal either, or Jelek, or any place he had ever seen or would ever see. It reminded him of Nuitari. The word 'building' seemed redundant when applied to it, a huge, black beast crouching in the valley beneath, holding the Dragonarmies together with its claws.

The power it emanated was incredible, the spires and turrets gleaming with their own dark light rather than reflecting any nearby source. Dalamar felt a bizarre surge of...pride?...as he stared at it, at the sight of so much power, the sense of which woke a hungry longing in his own heart. So much power, so much magic, as though the Temple was some sort of lightning rod, drawing down the strength of the Dark Gods. The highest pinnacle pierced the swirling clouds, and Dalamar's blood thrilled at the thought of what it must be like to stand atop it, open to the sky drawing down and the power drawing up...

And yet...

And yet, it was /wrong/, in a way Dalamar found hard to describe, the knowledge was a splinter in the back of his mind, small and insignificant and impossible to forget.  
The Temple reminded him of Nuitari; it had the same dark glory, promised the same power. But there was something horribly wrong about the sight of something like this on the earth. Nuitari was different, it was in the sky, it /belonged/ in the sky, as much a part of it as the sun and clouds. But the Temple...it was as if a part of Nuitari's moon had fallen to earth, a broken piece of some other world that didn't belong and would never belong.

As he stared at it, Dalamar felt his head start to spin and stomach roil, his meagre breakfast threatening to reappear. This was horribly, horribly wrong in a way that made even what had happened to Silvanesti seem insignificant. The power emanating from the place felt like lifeblood drawn from a dying creature, as though the Temple had mortally wounded the world simply by existing. It shouldn't be here. Where it was supposed to be, Dalamar had no idea, but not here, nor anywhere on Krynn.

He shuddered, and felt nausea raise its ugly head again. It took an immense force of will to tear his eyes away from the grotesque sight. Even the squalor of Neraka was better than this. He fixed his eyes on the dirt track the army was marching down, trying to ignore the Temple. He could feel its presence like a weight on his mind. Like a weight on the world and the magic, bending everything out of proportion.

It was a relief when they reached the valley floor, and the Temple sank beneath Neraka's broken walls like some perverse sun. He could still see the outlines of the spires clawing up from behind the rubble, the ever-thickening storm clouds swirling about them, dragging those impossible flying citadels with them like the Maelstrom had dragged the Perechon.

Dalamar put a hand to his head, feeling dizzy again. The clouds were giving him vertigo; they looked more like liquid smoke than true clouds. The sight of the flying castles wasn't helping matters either. Looking at them made his mind hurt as he tried to accept what he was seeing. He knew that there was no limit to what magic could do, but the thought of the power it would take to rip a /castle/ from the ground and make it fly...

Only a fragment of the power held within the Temple, Dalamar realised. The Temple that transfixed the fabric of the world and the magic like a spear and drew the power into itself...and into its maker. The Dark Queen's constellation was gone, had been missing since last autumn and he knew- knew beyond all doubt- where She had gone.

The order was given to halt just outside the walls. Dalamar collapsed to the ragged grass and buried his face in his hands. This didn't seem real, a dream he have given up hope of waking from. If this was where Raistlin had ended up, no wonder he would have lost control. Everything he saw was an assault on the senses, and he wouldn't be surprised to see the sun burn black and the sky bleed red beneath the shroud of the clouds. Nothing seemed real and Dalamar wanted Raistlin here. He wanted him here now. He wanted to hold onto some fragment of the reality he knew because otherwise he thought the ground would lose its hold on him and hurl him to the clouds above. The ground tilted under him threatening to do just that and Dalamar threw himself down, hanging onto the dying grass and crumbling earth as the world flipped over completely and sent him hurling into the sky, the citadels flying past like driftwood and the clouds closing over him like waves...

Dalamar screwed his eyes shut as the world seemed to spin around him, if he kept them open any longed he was going to black out. After so little food, even less sleep and this...this, it was perfectly reasonable to faint; Dalamar told himself firmly, but to do so in the middle of the Dragonarmies would be highly inadvisable.

He swallowed a few times, trying to settle his stomach before trying to sit up. He kept his eyes shut tight; not opening them until he had his aching head resting on his knees and all he could see was the cracked ground.

His ears were still working, although any unpleasant sounds were drowned out by the din of the slowly settling army. Dalamar didn't dare look up, partly because of nausea and partly because he suspected he was being watched.

All the same, when one set of heavy footsteps detached themselves from the general noise and started making their way towards him, instinct won over good sense and Dalamar lifted his head to look at them.

A mistake.

He barely caught a glimpse of the short, shrouded figure before his gorge rose and Dalamar found himself on his hands and knees, his throat burning from the bile. He retched until his stomach was empty and he was just coughing and shaking on the ground. His brain didn't seem to be working properly, everything was blurred.

"... 's up with him?..."

"...who is that anyway..."

"Stand away." A low, rumbling voice. Dwarfish accent.

Dalamar's first thought was that if this was how it was going to be without Raistlin, he might as well throw himself off a cliff and get it over with. The second thought was that if whoever this was meant him harm, they'd have struck by now.

"...not the plague, is it? Not having anyone with the plague..."

"... plague down in Blode, I hear. I bet..."

"I said to stand away!"

Dalamar raised bleary eyes in time to see the black-robed dwarf strike down two soldiers who had drawn too close. Lightning bolt. The flash burnt its way through his eyes and into his brain and Dalamar dropped his head again, groaning.  
A hand clasped around his arm, just below his shoulder, and wrenched him upright with staggering strength. The fingers felt like the jaws of a trap, and about as implacable. Despite being a full two feet shorter than Dalamar, the mage forced him upright and it was all Dalamar could do to get his feet under him as the dwarven mage started dragging him towards the walls.

"What do you think you're doing here?!" The voice was harsh, made harsher by the grinding accent, and was spoken straight into his ear, Dalamar realised his hood was still drawn.

His eyes still weren't focusing properly, and Dalamar was grateful, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to see at this moment. He tried to turn, to get some idea of who held him, but a second hand grasped him by the back of the neck and forced him to keep marching. The grip was almost strangling, and he was losing sensation in his arm below the elbow.

"Slumming with the troops are we? When Ariakas made it _distinctly_ clear you're supposed to stay at your stations-" Dalamar made an aborted attempt to break free, aborted when the mage's hand clenched so hard it almost cut off his air.

Dalamar was aware that his thoughts were taking their time in putting themselves together, but it was slowly dawning on him that his luck had finally run out. Nuitari had answered his prayers; he had reached Neraka, but no more than that. His heart sank still further as they reached the gates. The guards on watch parted quickly at the sight of them, and Dalamar thought he saw one touch his helm in respect as his captor stormed past.

Dalamar caught a brief glimpse of a dirt street flanked on either side by broken down shacks and tents with - oh Nuitari - the Temple looming over all, before the dwarven mage shoved him down a narrow alley between the walls and a semi-collapsed tent. The hands finally released their iron grip and Dalamar staggered away, his legs shivering under him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, his neck screaming in pain, before fixing his gaze on the wizard.

It was odd that Dalamar's first impression of a fellow Black Robe was of an enemy. But perhaps not. The mage was a dwarf, a being as deeply tied to the earth as elves were to their own lands. He had to know what was happening here, and feel how wrong it was. If he could ignore that for power, then handing a fellow Black Robe for interrogation would be easy.

Dalamar debated running, but discarded that notion immediately. If the speed at which he'd killed the two soldiers was any indication, he wouldn't make it ten feet. Fighting was too absurd to contemplate, and once again Dalamar was left with nothing but his wits.

The mage was tall for a dwarf, his robes ornately embroidered with copper thread. The light threw his face into shadow, leaving only the outline of the craggy features and thick beard. His eyes glinted in the shadow of the sockets and Dalamar felt his heart freeze in his chest. Those eyes were living, but the dwarf's face had the same hollow, mask-like expression as Raistlin's, as though someone or something was looking out behind those eyes.

"Well?" The dwarf roared, "Who is your commander? Or does Tramd o' the Dark have to deal with you himself?"

By his tone, Dalamar guessed that the dwarf was referring to himself, "I..." Dalamar had no idea what to say. He had no idea who the commanders were, but to leave himself to the mercy of this Tramd o' the Dark was not to be considered.

The dwarf didn't let him continue, his arm snapped out so fast he barely saw it, the stubby fingers clenching like a vice on his jaw. Dalamar's head was snapped forward, and his hood fell back.

Tramd was shocked enough that his grip briefly weakened, and Dalamar took the chance to pull away. "Raistlin Majere sent me," he croaked. His lover's name had been enough to coerce the hobgoblin, hopefully it would pull weight here, too.

The dark dwarf stared at him, unnatural eyes widening the slightest amount, fear in their depths. He took him in, bedraggled and travel-weary, but nevertheless a dark elf.

"What does Raistlin Majere want?" He said softly.

Dalamar's heart was pounding in his ears, but he forced his face to remain impassive. He had not imagined that fear. He kept talking, buying time. "If I would tell you, do you think he would have chosen me for that task?"

The dwarf snorted, "If Raistlin Majere had wanted a task done, he would not have chosen an _elf_ to do it." He glanced pointedly over the tent towards the Temple and snorted again, although the fear never left his eyes. Bravado.

Dalamar kept his face impassive, not allowing himself to show the revulsion he felt at the dwarf's scorn. The mage hadn't acted against him yet, and by the fear in his eyes, didn't want to risk killing him. Dalamar wasn't about to give him an excuse to. Instead, he forced himself to bow, straightened, and risked a step away.

Tramd o' the Dark watched him, but didn't speak or move to stop him. Dalamar inclined his head a second time, and, driving his nails into his palms to keep from running, forced himself to walk calmly away.

Tramd let him go.

* * *

The moment Dalamar had turned the corner out of sight, he picked up his pace, wanting to get as much distance as possible between himself and the dwarf. His breath came in gasps as though he'd run a mile, and he was still shivering, although whether from his narrow escape or the presence of the Temple he didn't know. He still felt sick, and badly wanted to sit down and rest.

The dwarf had let him go. Raistlin's name- the very mention of him- had intimidated both a hardy hobgoblin and a respected mage. Raistlin could only have been here for a week, what had he done- been made to do- to frighten these people to the point that they didn't want to act against anyone who mentioned him, just in case?

It had played into his hands, but here, right now, Dalamar felt his skin crawl at the thought of what he'd find when he finally tracked down his lover.

Speaking of which, he was finally inside Neraka. The thought should have been reassuring, that Raistlin couldn't be far away, but between the Temple and Tramd o' the Dark's revelations, it wasn't.

Dalamar glanced over his shoulder to check if he was being followed, but the street was deserted, probably because everyone was inside the numerous beer tents that lined it. He paused, wondering which one to enter. Any could be a useful place the get information, not to mention somewhere to sit and maybe eat something. Dalamar risked another glance back, and his heart beat faster at the sight of a troop of draconians approaching from the Temple. Dalamar didn't debate any longer, and slipped inside the nearest tent, which bore the comforting slogan 'No Dracos or goblins allowed'.

The tent was rank and full of smoke, but the only patrons were human. They looked up when he came in, then ignored him when he found a seat near the back of the bar.  
The seat was an old crate, the table a length of wood propped on two more, but it was a relief to sit down. Dalamar pulled off his backpack and put it on the table, rooting through it to find his waterskin.

"What'll you be having?"

Dalamar looked up. The bartender was looking at him with narrowed eyes. He shook his head and waved the question away. He didn't feel steady enough for alcohol and besides, the beer here looked as though it had been drunk once already.

"Either you drinks or you gets out," the barman scowled.

Dalamar was wondering whether it would be worth buying a drink just to shut the man up when the bar became abruptly silent. Dalamar looked to the door and felt his blood run cold. The draconians.

There were three of them, all wearing the grey hoods and cloaks in which Dalamar had first seen them. The crowd inside the bar started to jeer, shouting at them to get out, and one particularly brave soul hurled an empty tankard at them.

The lead draconian removed his hood. The creature's face- if it could be termed a face- meant nothing to Dalamar, only that this was one of the more powerful gold-skinned breeds and to be even more careful. It obviously meant something to the soldiers in the tent though, silence swept through the beer tents, and the humans hunched in their seats, all trying to remain inconspicuous. Dalamar saw the earlier brave soul making a discreet exit through the back door. He suspected it would be better to copy him. If he was right in his suspicions and Tramd o' the Dark /had/ ordered these draconians to go after him, he had to get out now.

Too late. The gold draconian's eyes swept over the crowd, and gestured in Dalamar's direction. "There."

Dalamar seized his pack, preparing to bolt as the hooded draconians sprang forwards. To his surprise, they stopped short, and instead grabbed hold of one of the human soldiers, slumped over the bar. The man, half-stupefied with alcohol, didn't seem to know what was going on and started shouting.

Dalamar glanced over at the first draconian, it was smiling and nodded to its cohorts "Take him outside, in the back."

The crowd murmured mutinously, but no one dared move as the two draconians trooped out the back door, their leader following at a more sedate pace. Dalamar kept his head down as they passed him, not daring to look up until they had left.

The bar was dreadfully silent, so the man's hoarse screams seemed all the louder in the enclosed space. Judging by the soldiers' expressions, the man had been well-liked.  
Dalamar shook his head slightly, grateful once again that he hadn't taken Eben up on his offer, if this was how the Dark Queen treated members of her army.

The screams died away to hoarse gasps, and the conversations in the bar started up again, low and nervous. From his position at the back of the tent, Dalamar could just about make out the lead draconian's voice, soft and sibilant in its questioning. "Do you remember arresting a dragonarmy officer this afternoon on charges of desertion?"

The man's voice was slurred, hoarse, and thick with tears "I- I don't know. There were a lot of officers today... we were trying to get everyone in... it was so busy and they all look alike-"

The man's voice was cut off by a renewed scream, and once again the beer tent fell silent.

Dalamar got up and picked up his bag. It was pointless to stay here and the man's screams were disgusting. There would be other places to get information.

"That'll be two steel" The bartender informed him.

_"Yes! Yes! I remember, but it wasn't just one officer, it was two! Two I swear!"_

Dalamar glowered at the man, "I didn't drink anything."

"That seat's for drinking customers, you sit there, you pay for drinks." The man's eyes were narrowed, and the crowd, already in a bad temper, was looking at Dalamar with increasing dislike.

_"Two? Describe the other officer."_

Dalamar shook his head and wondered if he should just pay and get out, of if that would just be incentive for more trouble. If it hadn't been for his keen ears, he would have missed the tortured man's next words.

_"A big human, really big. Bulging out of his uniform. And they had prisoners..."_

Dalamar stopped, all thought of payment forgotten. Bulging out of his armor... Caramon? They had been heading here after all, and they /would/ be foolish enough to get captured.

Ignoring the spluttering barman and the threatening looks from the crowd, Dalamar threw his bag over his shoulder and hurried outside, doubling back around the tent until he was close enough to overhear.

"...Describe them." The draconian's voice, sharp with interest.

"A human woman, red curls, breasts the size of-" Tika?

"Get on with it." The draconian snarled, and the man's words trailed off into a renewed scream.

"A- a kender." Tasslehoff. "An old man with a white beard..." Fizban? It was definitely them, although where Fizban had come from Dalamar had no idea. They'd suspected the old man wasn't really dead, but still.

The draconian repeated the descriptions thoughtfully, then "Tell me more about the old man."

"The old man? Old... white beard..." the man sounded as though he was lapsing into delirium.

"Stooped?"

"No... tall, broad shoulders... blue eyes. Queer eyes-"

"What about the eyes!" The draconian snarled furiously.

"Young... too young..."

The draconian repeated the words, his tone one of exultation, there was a crash as the man was thrown to the ground, then rapid footsteps as the draconians hurried away.

Dalamar didn't move, staring in amazement and horror. Surely even they couldn't have been _that_ stupid? If Berem was the key to the Dark Queen's victory, then /surely/ Tanis couldn't have been stupid enough to take him with them? Yes, Dalamar corrected himself, they really would be foolish enough to do just that.

And somehow, he had a feeling that if Raistlin would be anywhere, it would be right in the middle of this mess.

* * *

Please feed the author, I'm going through a hard time writing this and I really want to hear people's opinions, even if it's to tell me the chapter was crap. Please review!

Skull Bearer.


	8. For the Taking

_Lord Anaki- I find it hard to get into writing sometimes, and that chapter was written in fits and starts, and it was only by the end that it started flowing properly. This chapter, on the other hand, flowed very well._

_WalkingInDarkness737- Thank you, it's nice to know people are reading._

_Shadow- I was hoping I conveyed the suspense, so I'm glad I succeeded. More suspence coming!_

_ShadowValkyrie- Thank you!_

_Sookail: I think Raistlin's got excellent reason to be depressed. He thinks Dalamar's dead and has a mad lich in his head._

_Halokitty69: I got the idea of 'wrongness' from reading too much HP Lovecraft. It adds character to the situation, and for Dalamar, who's an elf and more connected to these things, it's impossible to overlook._

**For the Taking**

_You were from a perfect world  
A world that threw me away today  
-Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_Perhaps Fistandantilus had been too distracted by Tanis' sudden appearance to notice the walls locking Raistlin in were weaker, or perhaps he just didn't care. Either way, when the trumpets sounded and warned the lich that his spelltrap had been triggered, Raistlin felt it too. He felt Fistandantilus' irritation at having to miss whatever was happening, then an odd sort of anticipation. The lich suspected something._

_This time Raistlin recognised the spell the lich cast. Teleportation. The same spell that had taken them from welcome death into the presence of the Dark Queen. And like the last time Fistandantilus had cast it, the spell weakened the walls holding Raistlin yet further. Strong enough to still hold him, but not enough to stop him from seeing outside._

_There wasn't much to see. The spell cast, the place they were taken to was so dark Raistlin doubted even Dalamar could have seen through it. But then, if Dalamar had been with him they wouldn't be here. Raistlin forced the thought away. He couldn't think of that, he couldn't acknowledge the grief clawing at him because if he did he'd fall back into the trap of despair, this time never to escape.  
His weak control wavered, and the sounds around them became blurred, footsteps, someone sloshing through water, then finally, his own voice, given a hideously alien cast by Fistandantilus **"Shirak."**_

_And then Raistlin was staring through the frosted glass of his own vision at his twin brother._

_His shock was so intense that Fistandantilus noticed him, but weakened by his spell, he couldn't force him back. Raistlin felt him sneer, then, confident that his control was enough to stop Raistlin from fighting his control, turned his attention to Caramon.  
Raistlin's vision fogged, and he fought back, struggling to be able to see -Caramon!- His mental voice was a mere thread, unable to reach his throat.  
It was the most helplessly ironic nightmare. To be trapped, like this, and relying on **Caramon** to realise something was wrong. His brother had always claimed they shared a connection, and for once Raistlin prayed it was true. -Caramon! Help me! See through this, see this isn't me! Please-_

_Caramon's expression hadn't changed, a look of utter shock on his face, his lips moving soundlessly. -Raistlin-_

_-No!- Raistlin shrieked at him -Not me. This isn't me!- He couldn't imagine what he expected Caramon to do, but if he could just look at him and realise the truth..._

_"Yes, my brother," Fistandantilus' voice was his, a gentle, caring tone that would have reminded Raistlin of how he had spoken to Dalamar countless times, if it wasn't been for the undercurrent of ice the lich could never completely mask. "It is I- the last guardian, the one you must pass to reach your goal, the one Her Dark Majesty commanded be present if the trumpets should sound." Raistlin felt his lips twisted into a gentle smile, his voice lowering into fondness. "I should have known it would be you who tripped my spelltrap..."_

_Fistandantilus was smiling, seeing Caramon's lips move wordlessly, choking out "Raist..."_

_-No!-_

_The man beside Caramon- Berem, Raistlin recognised him suddenly- plucked at the big man's sleeve. "Jasla calls. We must go."_

_Caramon gave a choked sob and wrenched his arm from the man's grasp. Berem glared at him, then started forwards on his own._

_"No, my friend," Fistandantilus' voice held more than a trace of its usual ice now, "No one's going anywhere."_

_Berem stopped in mid-stride, as though he'd run into a wall. He kept his eyes fixed on something behind them, tears of desperation in in his eyes._

_Raistlin knew exactly how he felt._

_Caramon raised his eyes again, then dropped them when he met Fistandantilus' dead eyes. "You wear the Black Robes now?" He whispered, "I can't see... in this light..."_

_"Yes my brother," Fistandantilus savoured those words, raising his staff to allow Caramon to see him clearly._

_Caramon shuddered, "And your voice, it's stronger, different. Like you... and yet not like you... And your eyes..."_

_-Yes!- Raistlin thought desperately, -Yes, even you can see it! This isn't me!- He felt Fistandantilus' flash of worry for a moment before the lich crushed it mercilessly._

_"It's a long story, Caramon," He whispered soothingly, "In time, you may come to hear it. But now you are in a very bad situation, my brother. The draconian guards are coming. Their orders are to Capture the Everman and take him before the Dark Queen. That will be the end of him. He is not immortal, I assure you. She has spells that will unravel his existence, leaving him little more than thin threads of flesh and soul, wafting away on the winds of the storm. Then She will devour his sister and- at last- the Dark Queen will be free to enter Krynn in her full power and majesty. She will rule the world and all the planes of heaven and the Abyss. Nothing will stop her."_

_And he couldn't allow that, Raistlin knew, he would let Berem do whatever he needed to thwart the Dark Queen's plans, but not before making sure they all knew this only happened because of him. He wanted Caramon bound to him through debt and blood. Raistlin stared at his brother, silently begging him to see the truth._

_-Be silent-_

_Fistandantilus' attack caught him off guard and almost succeeded in forcing him away. This time, Raistlin fought back stubbornly, he had to see this, he had to fight, if Caramon was the only chance he had left then by the Gods he wouldn't give up._

_"I don't understand-" Caramon said helplessly._

_"No, of course not, dear brother." Fistandantilus' anger with Raistlin bled off into his voice, "You stand next to the Everman, the one being in all of Krynn who can end this war and drive the Dark Queen back to her shadowy realm. And you do not understand."_

_Raistlin saw his own hand extend towards his brother, and beckon. Caramon stepped forwards, oblivious to Raistlin's mental screams._

_"The Everman has only to take a few more steps, my brother, and he will be reunited with the sister who has endured unspeakable agonies during these long years of waiting for his return to free her from her self-imposed torment."_

_"And what will happen then?" Caramon tried, once again to look Fistandantilus in the face, but the moment his eyes met those dead orbs, he dropped his gaze again, unable to face the truth of what was happening._

_Fistandantilus smiled, "The wedge will be removed, my dear brother, and the door will slam shut. The Dark Queen will be left howling in rage in the depths of the Abyss. And this.. this Temple of Istar reborn, perverted by evil... will fall."_

_Caramon looked at him, confused, and Raistlin felt a small spark of hope at the suspicion in his brother's eyes. Fistandantilus ignored it. "No, I am not lying. Not that I can't lie when it suits my purpose. But you will find, dear brother, that we are still **close** enough so that I cannot lie to you. And, in any case, I have no need to lie. Better that you know the truth."_

_Raistlin saw the suspicion fade from his brother's eyes, replaced by the first stirring of a blind trust Raistlin knew far, far too well. He screamed again, feeling his last chance starting to slip away._

_-You should have made the best of him while you had the chance- Fistandantilus laughed at him -Such a useful tool should never be cast aside-_

_The lich could have thrown him back now, Raistlin knew, but he wanted Raistlin to see this, he wanted him to know that his last possible ally was lost to him, that there was no one else, he was alone and trapped for good. Raistlin felt the tenuous grip he held on despair start to slip._

_"You know what I must do, Raist." Caramon said softly, his eyes begging Fistandantilus to forgive him. "You might be powerful, but you still need to concentrate to work your magic. And if you work it against me, Berem'll be free of your power. You can't kill him, only your Dark Queen can do that, I suppose, so that leaves-" Caramon swallowed, then glanced backwards as the sound of approaching draconians drew close._

_"You, my dear brother." Fistandantilus shook his head, smiling gently. "My poor dear brother, how could I ever kill you?"_

_With a howl, a blur of scales and blades burst into the chamber, the draconian guards Fistandantilus had prophesised. The lich raised his hands- Raistlin's hands- and cast, tearing the unnatural creatures to pieces with Raistlin's stolen magic.  
"I am powerful, Caramon." Fistandantilus said, still in that same gentle voice. "I am the most powerful force of magic in Krynn, but perhaps I am not so powerful as to forget the debts and bonds between us, my brother."_

_Raistlin stared at Caramon, watching the disbelief in his eyes turning to hope, and realised his last chance was gone. He shrieked wordlessly at his brother's open, happy face, screaming warnings that his brother couldn't hear and would never hear. It was all a lie, all those tales he had heard from everyone about his bond with Caramon. All lies. There was no bond, just the cheerful blindness of one too stupid to realise what was going on._

_"Remember, my brother," Fistandantilus smiled, negating the spell on Berem. "This happens because I choose it to happen."_

_With an incoherent cry, the Everman rushed past them. Fistandantilus didn't turn, his dead eyes on Caramon's face. The big man didn't move, staring at the floor, at his hands, at Berem, anywhere but Fistandantilus' face.  
A terrible scream made them turn, and Raistlin saw, through the thickening fog of Fistandantilus' control, that Berem had hurled himself onto a jewelled pillar with such force that he'd impaled himself on it._

_Caramon jumped forwards, shouting something incoherent, then the ceiling shuddered, small stones starting to rain down from above. From the corridor from which his brother had come, more shouts rang out.  
"Raist..." Caramon's face had lost all expression, staring at the impaled body of the dead man. "Please," He looked around, the sounds of more draconians filtering through to Raistlin. "Don't leave me to die at their hands. If that means you have to k-kill me now, please do it. You owe me as much."_

_"Caramon." Fistandantilus shook his head, "I owe you more than you could ever know"  
Those words worked more magic that any enchantment could, Raistlin saw Caramon's eyes light up, tears threatening to gather at 'his brother's' tender words, more gentle and caring that any Raistlin had ever spoken to him.  
"Can you walk?" The lich offered Caramon his arm._

_"I-I think so," Caramon glanced at Raistlin's belt, at the pouch where the Dragon Orb was held, "Can't- can't you that- that /thing/ to get us out of here?" By his voice, even he hadn't forgotten what had happened the last time it had been used._

_Raistlin could feel Fistandantilus' amusement as he plotted out how best to explain abandoning them in the Blood sea. Something heartfelt and sincere, placing the blame firmly on Dalamar's shoulders, would work best. Raistlin felt Fistandantilus' attention turn to him, mocking, laughing, enjoying his reaction. Caramon had believed the Dark elf had held Raistlin under an enchantment, and Fistandantilus saw no reason to disabuse him of that notion._

_And he would believe it, Raistlin was sure. He felt a flare of pure loathing towards his brother. Disgusted to have known him, to have ever thought of him as a brother. Revolting, filthy mindless drone who would follow anyone, believe anything as long as he was okay. He hated him more that he'd ever thought possible._

_"I could, but you wouldn't particularly enjoy the journey, my brother. Besides, have you forgotten those who came with you?"_

_And how better to cement the oaf's allegiance than to rescue the fools he held so dear? Raistlin felt Fistandantilus smile in pleasure as everything fell so neatly into place._

_"Tika! Tas!" Caramon gasped, jumping straight into the trap. "And Tanis! What about-"_

_"Tanis is on his own," Fistandantilus said firmly. "I have aided him and if he is wise, he will escape unharmed. But perhaps I can aid others as they have aided me in the past."_

_And may 'aid' me again in the future._

_Again, the sounds came from the end of the passage, the servants of the Dark Queen obeying their mistress' final commands. They rushed out into the room, but Fistandantilus was ready. The walls holding Raistlin weakened further as the lich turned his full attention to spellcasting. Goblins were banished to dust, Draconians crumbled where they stood, Dark Cleric found their prayers unanswered and died screaming. Only the Black Robes realised something of what- if not who- they were facing, and fled on the wings of magic before they too could be struck down. Then silence fell, and the walls thickened until the world faded in a blur of white._

_He couldn't see, but Raistlin knew what was happening, he could see it in Fistandantilus' mind, if not though his eyes. He felt the lich laugh as he helped the wounded Caramon, as he had helped him in the dream. But now was not the time to drain the strength from the man and take it as his own, that could wait until Caramon had preformed a few more services for him. What services, Raistlin didn't know and hardly dared to imagine._

_He felt the undead creature's amusement at the draconians scurrying past them as they made their way to the ground level of the Temple, guided by the lich's memory of the Temple of Istar, hundreds of years before._

_And he felt the creature's irritation when they came across the bodies of Tika and Tasslehoff and Caramon broke down. He felt it deepen when Caramon begged him to heal the kender, a task that would sap yet more of his energy and leave him vulnerable, but which the lich couldn't refuse or risk losing Caramon._

_The magic drain was deep, but it was Raistlin's strength, not his. The world came quite abruptly into focus as Fistandantilus focused his attention on the spell. But not enough to give way, never enough for that._

_Then there was silence, a stillness broken only by the occasional tremors up above. Raistlin looked into his brother's eyes, using his final gasp of control to let him know, make him see... But Caramon turned away, looking down, not wanting to see, not wanting to think. He wanted this to be Raistlin, so badly he ignored the truth that was staring him in the face. The walls thickened again, and the world began to blur._

_"You see, Caramon?" Fistandantilus said simply._

_And wordlessly, soundlessly, Caramon nodded._

* * *

Dalamar had no idea what was going on. He had waited in Neraka long enough to make sure he had no chance of running into the draconians, and to screw up his courage to step into the Temple. He'd kept his hood down and his eyes on the road, keeping as much to the shadows as he could. But the line of shacks didn't reach into the shadow of the place itself, and Dalamar had been forced to pause and consider how he could bluff his way in. A spell of invisibility wouldn't work, not against dragons, and he wasn't sure if the draconians would accept his explanation that Raistlin Majere had sent for him.

Then, before he'd had time to make his mind up one way or another, the decision was taken out of his hands. The Dragonarmy horns sounded,  
brassy and deafening, echoing out from within the massive complex. Dalamar had jumped, and made the mistake of looking up at the Temple.

He'd felt... utterly insignificant, like an ant beside the foot of a dragon. The Temple reared into the clouds as though it was about to fall and crush him. Closer to, it was far more terrible and glorious than when he had first seen it, and Nuitari help him, he couldn't look away.

He didn't know how long he'd stood there, half in and half out of the shadows, paralyzed by a terror far more potent even that dragonfear. He did know that if the draconians had been any less distracted, then would have seen him and no amount of explaining could have saved him. But whatever was happening inside commanded all of their attention, and they had none to pay to the Dark elf standing frozen in the shadow of their Temple.

Then, suddenly, the building had shuddered. Shuddered like a hawk shaking frost from its wings. Then, like a hawk, it had started to fall.  
The pinnacle had been first, it had broken with the sound of a thousand lightning bolts striking ground and toppled to the earth, landing with a crash that shook the earth like an earthquake. The pillars had followed, the upper stories starting to sag and collapse. The hypnotising spell had faded, the sense of terrible awe crumbling with the Temple, becoming nothing more than a falling collection of stone and mortar, and Dalamar was able to look away at last.

Draconians had started to pour out of the doors, shrieking and howling, some clutching treasures and gold as they went. Then the human soldiers, then Dalamar hadn't been able see any more because the living wave had reached him and it was all he could do to stand his ground and not get overrun or thrown to the ground as it broke over him.

He didn't know why he hadn't run, pieces of architecture were falling all around him, and crushing anything in the way. He remembered seeing a draconian, slowed by the bag of jewels it was trying to carry, crushed by a no-longer-flying buttress. All Dalamar had known, known it some obscure, crazy way that had nothing to do with common sense or magic, was that Raistlin was still in there.

And of course, Dalamar had done the only thing he could do, and run inside the crumbling Temple.

* * *

Dalamar had no idea where he was going, but so far there hadn't been much of a choice, the main hall wasn't an option, the roof had already collapsed and anyone who hadn't made it out was already dead, upstairs was also out, he didn't think Raistlin would be up there either. Which left him with only one corridor to follow. Mercifully, it was also the emptiest.

He was running. Dalamar wasn't sure when he'd switched to that from the fast walk he'd first used, but he was running now. Running flat out down the corridor, his boots ringing out with every step. The ceiling was still rumbling ominously but so far this part of the Temple seemed stable. Shouts echoed all around him, draconian snarls, dragon roars, screams and shouts from humans and goblins-

And suddenly, most piercingly, a kender's voice, high and familiar. Dalamar froze, turned, and ran as fast as he could down the corridor from which the shout had sounded. His heart was hammering so loudly he could barely hear anything else, his whole attention fixed on getting to the source of that voice.  
It was down one of the outer corridors, one that must lead outside. The kender's voice was drowned out by draconian voices, then rang out again, more clearly, far closer. "But my things!"

Dalamar skidded around a corner, and his heart stopped at the sight of the little crowd around the doors, light from the open doorway haloing them like that from the Dragon Orb. Stopped, or started again for the first time since the Blood sea.

Dalamar couldn't have stopped if the whole Temple had fallen in on top of him, and his voice held all the pain, fear and despair of the last few days.

_"Raistlin!"_

* * *

_Skull Bearer._


	9. For the Giving

_arrasailsup: To be honest, Amberyl didn't deserve what Dalamar did; the Valin was no more her fault than Raistlin's. Dalamar's reaction is understandable, but hardly right.  
Actually, I don't like Tasslehoff at all, and I certainly don't like dealing with him unless I have to. He's a living deus ex machina courtesy of Weiss and Hickman's writing, and his parts are going to be severely cut short, so don't get your hopes up.  
Otherwise, thank you for your kind review, and I'm glad you're enjoying this._

_Shadow: Caramon... shakes head and yes, it was evil, sorry for the long wait, but I've been away in Europe recently. Here's the much anticipated chapter._

_Tiernan Hunter: evil laugh_

_WalkinginDarkness737: Thank you._

_kandra: Heh, that's what I was trying for, with Caramon's character. Thank you._

_Khala Serina: Yeah, Raistlin/Dalamar is FAR too rare online. Please join me in making it more common ;)_

_Lord Anaki: Thank you._

_piratelore: Yes, evil. Sorry for the hiatus, I've been away._

_halokitty: Fistandantilus is just... yeah, evil. Horrible bastard. I used to think I was making him a bit extreme, until I read the Kingpriest Trilogy, and knew that, if anything, he wasn't nasty enough._

_shadowvalkyrie: You know what's coming up so it's not much of a cliffy then is it?_

**_This will be the last chapter of Alvorecer._**

**Alvorecer**

Chapter nine- For the Giving

_Today to run away,  
Coma White, Marilyn Manson_

* * *

_Casting the spell had weakened Fistandantilus, and the shock was so intense that his control lapsed. For a moment, the barriers fell.  
//How?// The lich's thoughts echoed deafeningly in Raistlin's mind, incredulous. //How?// The dark elf was dead. He'd **known** he was dead. The sea elves might save a half-elf or an oaf of a human, but after the demented actions of their own exiles, they would never save a Dark elf. And even if they did, surely they would kill him rather than let him go._

_A flash of hatred- Fistandantilus hated being wrong, and Raistlin felt the lich's rage towards the elves. Predictable enough to lull you into believing you could anticipate them, then doing the last thing you'd expect them to do. First the sea elves, showing mercy to the creatures they most hated, and now this Dark elf who just wouldn't die!_

_Without warning, the lich's attention bore down on Raistlin, icy and burning like an unearthly dead sun. The barriers rose again, slamming closed and shutting out the world, but not before the lich's thought slid through one last time. Fear. If his unwilling host had seen this, had heard his thoughts...Much easier to possess one broken in soul, than one who would fight him at every turn._

_Stripped bare, imprisoned with his own mind, Raistlin drew himself into himself, coiling a mass of thoughts and memories around his mind, shutting himself in as the lich had shut him out. Walls within walls within walls. Fistandantilus pushed against them, then; sensing only grief, pain and hopelessness, he pulled away, satisfied._

_Raistlin had thought holding back despair was the hardest thing imaginable. He was wrong. The hardest thing in the world was holding back the wave of sheer, overwhelming relief that threatened to break over him when /he/ had stepped into sight. His eyes were fogged, but even blind, he would have known. The walls had fallen for one heart-splitting moment and Raistlin had seen his face._

_Seen Dalamar's face._

_The moment had almost destroyed him. To see him, to know that Dalamar was alive, that he was unhurt, that he was /here/, and to have to hold back those feelings was shattering. The feeling in his heart- the heart of his soul, when his body was no longer his -feeling like he was about to split apart from overwhelming joy. The strongest emotion he had even felt, and he had to hold it back. He had thought holding back despair was terrible, holding back relief...impossibly so._

_But he had done it, and tricked Fistandantilus, and as the lich's attention turned away from him, he allowed himself to feel- bit by bit, crumb by crumb- the emotions sweeping over him. The images. Dalamar, his face pale and hollow with exhaustion, his eyes silver with burning intensity, with the driving will that had brought him so far. Dalamar, who he'd been so certain he'd lost forever. Dalamar, who'd followed him -Gods only knew how- to the closest thing to the Abyss that could be found on Krynn._

_And to think, this was the same person who had once believed he would never trust him._

_The change that just seeing the Dark elf had brought staggered him. Staggered, and frightened. The crushing weight of despair lifted, as though a wall had fallen within his thoughts. Clarity. He had been so close to giving in to that despair, so close to just giving up. It was only now it was gone that Raistlin realized just how close he'd come. To have fallen so completely apart that he'd been unable to act, it was terrifying._

_He'd known his love for the Dark elf had left him vulnerable, something enemies could use to attack him, but it was only when that attack came that he realized how much._

_Stop. Stop. Fistandantilus' mind raked over his, scraping along the blanket of despair he'd wrapped around himself, then, satisfied that he had seen nothing, and remained crippled by grief, turned back out._

_The lich's thoughts flickered against his, the walls weakening slightly as he concentrated. Flashes. Rage. Cold, ice-bound rage. Focus. Burn. Lie. Words. Poisoned words. Focus. The spell. //Ast kiranann kair gadunrm soth-arn suh kali jalaran...//_

_Oh, Lunitari no._

_**//Kill him.//**_

* * *

Whatever Dalamar had expected -and he must have expected something, although he couldn't imagine what- it wasn't this. It wasn't the frozen, burning fury on his lover's now-alien face. It wasn't the hatred that was written in every motion, in every breath. It wasn't the terrible, nightmarishly familiar dead look in those hourglass eyes. It was strange that, on one hand, it was almost a relief. He was right. This wasn't Raistlin. Hadn't _been_ Raistlin. If it had, Dalamar didn't know what he'd have done. 

Those hourglass eyes had flickered, a moment. A split-heartbeat. He could have imagined it.

He probably had. There was no sign of Raistlin in those eyes now. No sign of him in that face. Just that dead creature. 'He' Raistlin had called him, before the coughs had almost choked him to death. The creature that had been with them since Raistlin's Test, and had its hands around Raistlin's throat since autumn.

And Nuitari, Gods, let it not have strangled him yet. Let Raistlin still be in there somewhere. Let him have _seen.._. Nuitari. Raistlin. Dalamar didn't know who he was praying to anymore.

"Raistlin?" Caramon looked between them.

Dalamar stared at him, unable to believe this even of Caramon. Did he honestly believe that the creature standing there, looking at him behind those eyes, was his /brother?/ The big man looked almost fearful, and Dalamar wondered if he was expecting Raistlin to rush up and kiss him.

"Traitor." The creature spat through Raistlin's lips. The voice was barely recognizable. The tone was all that was left. The accent, the inflections, the words...None were Raistlin's. "I trusted you and you betrayed me." Had it been Raistlin's voice, it would have hurt. But now Dalamar felt as though he had wandered into a pantomime without knowing the lines. "You twisted my mind. Enchanted me..." And it /was/ a pantomime, a show put on in honor of the idiots who would believe it.

The Raistlin-creature lifted its hand, the Dragon Orb's cloth bag held in hands that somehow seemed more skeletal than ever. "But this freed me. This broke the spell. This let me think again."

Dalamar didn't say anything. There was no point in denying it. Caramon would believe it, would believe anything from what he thought was his brother. The kender wouldn't care what the truth was, as long as it was entertaining. Tika alone looked suspicious. Tika he could convince, but what was the point? What was their opinion to him? What was the point in wasting his breath when he could see the danger rising in those dead eyes. A murderous rage he was sure the creature did not have to fake.

Raistlin...

The creature had tried to kill him in Silvanesti. Raistlin hadn't let him, had given Nuitari only knew what to protect his lover. But now... If Raistlin was still in there, he was too weak, too broken to fight. It sounded impossible, that Raistlin, unbreakable, indomitable Raistlin, would allow himself break.

But then, how would he act, if he were powerless and alone, and believing Raistlin dead? The cold dread in his heart tightened, and froze when the creature raised Raistlin's hands. Slender, beautiful hands, such loving hands. Long, delicate fingers now hooked into claws, the fingers of an old man, an old monster. Magic starting to gather, staring to flare. The dead voice staring to intone; _"Ast kiranann kair gadunrm soth-arn..."_

Dalamar didn't stay to hear him finish the spell -a spell he knew very well. It might have been cowardly, but if Raistlin was still trapped within his own mind, he did not want him to see him die.

Whatever controlled Raistlin was too powerful, powerful enough to kill a dragon, powerful enough to crush the strongest mind Dalamar had ever met. Too powerful for an attack to end in anything but death. The only defense Dalamar had was his own mind, one that never stopped working, no matter how terrible things were. That set him running at the best possible moment. Early enough to still get enough space between him and the caster, but late enough that the creature couldn't re-aim without losing the spell.

The lightning bolt followed Dalamar down the corridor with a roar of exploding air and a storm of concussive force that threw him against the wall. His arm scraped the crumbling surface and his ears rang, cutting out all sound. Dizzy, barely able to stay standing, Dalamar kept running. Running. /Running/. Running away from the very person he had crossed half of Ansalon to see. Risked everything to see. Because that person was no longer there.

Dalamar didn't know how he made his way out of the crumbling temple. He couldn't remember anything after those thoughts had crossed him mind. But his mind had worked, had guided him out of the ruins, away from the draconians, and finally out of the town. Dalamar stumbled on something he couldn't see, and fell to his knees, then down on his elbows.

He wasn't crying. He was barely breathing, the air just didn't seem to come, no matter how he gasped, as though something was reaching into his lungs to steal it away. Was this what Raistlin felt, those terrible moments when the air didn't come, before the coughing fits almost tore him apart?

Had felt. The creature's voice was strong, unbroken. Dalamar choked, and gasped. He felt sick. He couldn't stop shaking. He felt now as he had felt when he'd woken from drowning. Weak and trembling and cold, but with his mind finally clear.

Dalamar sat up on his knees, head bowed as he tried to breath. His robes stank of ozone from the lighting bolt. Oh Nuitari... Raistlin. Raistlin. Raistlin who was unable to fight, not even for him. Raistlin who might be the one dead. Dalamar drew a deep breath, unable to believe it, even with the proof of it staining his clothes.

Dalamar turned, staring back as though in hope of seeing him again. To look once more, to be sure...

The Temple had its back to the mountainside, and Dalamar had, in his mad dash, climbed quite a way into the foothills. With the Temple finally crumbling to the ground, Dalamar could see beyond it into the city. He'd been right; without the Temple to hold it together, Neraka was breaking to pieces, shattering into fragments. Tents were going down like reeds in the wind, draconians scurried among the rubble like ants. Around the edges of the town, Dalamar could make out the better-trained human mercenaries lying in wait, ambushing anyone carrying loot.

And there- _there_ were four people. Two humans; one huge, one a woman, a kender, and a robed and hooded figure. Dalamar's mouth went dry, his heart pounding in his throat, because even at this distance, he knew who this was. And he knew who this wasn't. Raistlin had a slight stoop, weighed down by ill-health, but this creature was hunched, thrusting Raistlin's neck forwards, clasping the Staff of Magius to his chest rather than leaning on it as Raistlin would. This was not a crutch, it was a weapon.

Dalamar rolled over, lying on his back against the slope. His heart froze as the figure turned, golden face a wraith-white under the light of Solinari. Dalamar scrambled back as he felt those dead eyes on him. The distance was nothing and the creature wanted him dead. He had to move, to get out. He forced himself to hold still, forced his eyes to lock on the distant oval that had once been his lover's face but had now become his nemesis'.

The face turned away, and Dalamar started to cast, keeping one eye on the figure as he did so. If it turned and saw him, everything would be lost. He hoped that whatever it was doing with the three fools would occupy its attention long enough.

He wished he had memorized one of the illusion spells that had made them so much money in Flotsam, but that couldn't be helped. In his exposed position, it probably wouldn't have worked. Grateful that he still had at least this left, Dalamar cast the invisibility spell as quickly as possible.

Invisibility shrouded sight, not sound, and Dalamar made a small racket scrambling back down off the hillside, dislodging a hail of stones and pebbles as he went. It was a risk, drawing closer, but the wreckage of the Temple offered a better hiding place than the hillside.

The ruins were completely unrecognizable. Much of the rubble seemed to have vanished, as though drawn back into the same vile plane that had spawned it- which was probably the case. The rest more resembled the foundations of a long-forgotten church than a true temple, the stones blackened as though by fire.

Dalamar's skin crawled suddenly, the first prickling warnings that had become far too familiar. /Dragons/.

Just the one, but Dalamar would know it anywhere. The huge, terrible green that had woven the Nightmare where everything had come unraveled. It circled down, but Dalamar didn't wait to see where it landed. He already knew.

Dalamar crouched down beneath a half-fallen wall. What a twisted nightmare. To have come this far, looking for the very person he was now hiding from. Raistlin... Gods. He didn't seem to be able to think anything else. Gods. Nuitari. Raistlin. His heart hurt, and the spell-born weariness seemed all the deeper now that he knew he wouldn't be finding any answers here. Whatever had possessed Raistlin controlled him so deeply that Dalamar knew better than to try and break it without knowing more.

The dragonfear rose again, warningly, and Dalamar curled up under the stones, his heart beating against his ribs. The illusion would have done nothing, the invisibility would do nothing unless he stayed out of sight. The creature was searching for him. Dalamar screwed his eyes closed. He couldn't look.

And then it was gone, the dragon winging its way back east over the mountains, and the dragonfear faded away, leaving a bone-deep helpless anger in its wake. He was gone. Raistlin was gone. He had failed. Never mind that there was nothing he could have done, it was still failure. He had come here to find Raistlin, and he had, only to have him slip through his fingers, under the claws of that dead creature. And now he was gone, and the gods only knew where he would go.

Dalamar took a deep breath. There was no doubt where _he_ would go, the very place he should have gone. The creature had believed him dead. He should have used the chance to find answers before confronting it. He should have... Dalamar closed his eyes. He should have done a lot of things, but if he had to do it again, he wouldn't do anything differently. If Raistlin was still alive, inside his own mind, he would have seen him. He would know Dalamar was alive, and that would be worth any risk.

But now he knew, and so did the creature possessing him, and now Dalamar had to face a much longer journey. The thought of the distance he'd have to travel, through war-torn lands, was exhausting, but there was simply no other choice. He had no one else to turn to, nowhere else to go, and, however painful it was to admit to himself, meeting Raistlin again would mean his death. It was the only place left he could find the answers he needed. It was the only place Raistlin had ventured that he hadn't. It had been there Raistlin had taken his Test and there he had first been touched by that creature.

The Tower of High Sorcery.

**The End.**

_The sequel will be up hopefully soon._

_Skull Bearer._


	10. Epilogue

_Lord Anaki: Yeah... sorry. This isn't something can can be resolved in a single installment. It's the big conflict in I&E, so it's going to be grim going._

_arrasailsup: When I finrst had to write Fistandantilus' name, I used cut&paste. Now I'm used to it but it really was a pain. Guess why I call him 'this lich' so often?  
Raistlin and Dalamar are the only redeemable feature of the Dragonlance novel, only fair for them to shack up together ;) Hot, too._

_Koroko Serinia: It is a struggle against the inner fangirl, which is why these chapters are taking so long. My fangirl wants them to get together NOW, but I know that's not in the plot, so it's a constant battle._

_kandra: Sorry about that, but it was unavoidable. This and the next installment are very closely connected, so it shouldn't be too jarring._

_Shadow: Yes, they deserve hugs don't they?_

_Shadowvalkyrie: If you hated Fistandantilus before, wait 'til you read this._

_analiathe1st: That's what I was going for. It's completely unnatural, but only Dalamar knows Raistlin well enough or has the sense to work out something's wrong._

_halokitty69: Don't worry, it's all sorted out (and is actually more coherent than canon, if only because I understand what I'm trying to do, which I sincerely doubt W&H did.  
I am still awaiting the porn. However I demand that you post it somewhere. Don't worry, I'll give it a good beta._

_Okay, I knew I said Alvorecer was finished, but... I lied, okay? Everybody lies, as they say in my new fandom. There were some things I still needed to tie up, and a scene I really wanted to add, so here it is, the epliogue to Alvorecer. Not beta-ed, because there's not much to beta._

**Alvorecer**

Epilogue

_A pill to make you dumb,  
A pill to make you numb,  
A pill to make you anybody else.  
Marilyn Manson, Coma White_

He'd known when Fistandantilus had seen Dalamar again, he'd felt the lich's rage. His own anger had echoed it, that he could have laid eyes on Dalamar and not seen him, that Fistandantilus would still try and kill him. And then something strange had happened. He could feel the lich's anger, but more than that, if he focused, he could sense the creature's... Raistlin couldn't call them emotions, but feelings, dead relics of emotions. Anger and hunger and greed. And it was very easy to turn his attention from anger to hunger- hunger for power, for magic- and... push.

There was no other way to describe the motion, pressing that emotion into the forefront of the lich's mind. The creature's attention jumped to it like lightning to iron and Raistlin snapped back to the depths of his mind before he could notice him. Fistandantilus' thoughts played on the emotions, then turned, abandoning his hunt for Dalamar for what had become of more pressing importance.

Raistlin didn't know what he had started, or where Fistandantilus wanted to go. But he did know he had managed to draw the lich's attention away from Dalamar, which had been bent on the elf's destruction.  
And he had discovered something else. He had power. Was this the power Fistandantilus had, in those years when he'd been the one trapped, only able to manipulate thoughts?

It was all Raistlin could do not to act now, to lash out with the only weapon he had left. The temptation was overwhelming. But there was nothing he could do, he didn't have the power to break the lich's control. He would have to wait.  
To wait. To wait with this monster ruling his mind, control his every move, while he was a prisoner. That was agony.

But he would have to. There was nothing else. He had no more than the faintest sense of the outside world, only the faintest hints would filter through, and no sense of time. He'd felt the vague echo of dragonfear, and the flicker of spellcasting where once there'd been a burn, then the cold, overwhelming cold that eclipsed even Fistandantilus', but had no sense of time, of how long had passed between one and the other.

And he watched. He watched the echoes of the world outside through Fistandantilus' thoughts. He saw Cyan Bloodbane through the lich's eyes, flickers of a distant city he somehow knew as Palanthas, the tall, dead tower than had once been the Tower of High Sorcery.  
Then Raistlin had to pull back because his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Because it had been _Fistandantilus_ that had done this, who had twisted the mind of the young Black Robe Andras Rannoch to not only curse the Tower, but also start the Lost Battles.

Has Raistlin been able to speak, he wouldn't have been able to. Fistandantilus had destroyed the Order of High Sorcery to the point that it was only now recovering. He had acted for no reason other than a selfish lust for Godhood. Raistlin was trapped in the mind of someone who would had gladly sacrificed all the magic in the world for his own ends. Suddenly, he wondered if he /should/ act, even if it meant sacrificing his own mind, because if Fistandantilus was allowed to act freely, with Raistlin's power at his command...

But he didn't. Because as he had once told Fistandantilus, he was no Solamnic knight, no high noble to care for honor. Because he would not, not ever fall back into the pit of despair again, never give in again. And most of all, because he owed Dalamar nothing less.

* * *

_And, in the ruins of Neraka..._

Caramon stared up at the sky, more concerned with whether his brother would return than the disapproving expression on the avatar of Paladine's face.  
"He's gone, Tanis." The big man whispered sadly. "I thought... He sounded... Caramon shook his head. "He was so _different_, he'd changed. He's still frail, but he isn't weak. The horrible cough is gone. His voice is his own, yet different. He's-"

"Fistandantilus." Fizban murmured, the scowled when both Caramon and Tanis bowed to him hurriedly. "Oh, stop that! Can't abide all that bowing. You're both hypocrites anyway. I've heard what you said behind my back... But never mind. You believed what I wanted you to believe." The avatar's face turned grave, "Now, about your brother. You are right, he is not himself. As was foretold, the Master of Past and Present has come, but yet, not as foretold." He shook his head.

"I don't understand." Caramon shook his head. "He changed so much. Did... did the Dark elf do this. I knew Raistlin had changed when he had met him, but this-"

Fizban snorted, "If you wish an explanation, you will have to look further than that. But those answers are not mine to give, nor yours to seek. Beware of those answers, young man, beware still more of your questions!"

"What will become of him now?"

"I do not know," If anything, Fizban's expression grew more bitter. "Neither he nor fate will be able to decide, that is certain. But I do know this, Caramon, you must to let him go. Do not seek him out, do not follow him because he is out of your ability to help. The only one who can..." Fizban sighed and shook his head again. "A pity he left so quickly," the God murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "I would have preferred to speak to him. My nephew shall be displeased.

_Skull Bearer._


End file.
